A Field of Flowers
by aplacefarawayfromhere
Summary: The Golden Trio knows the story of Tom Riddle's Horcruxes. But, as they are sent back in time, they discover that Tom Riddle wanted to put his soul back together again. Their mission: to find out why. T/HR- A twist on the time traveling tale
1. The Decision

A/N: So, I rewrote my Hermione/Tom story with a different plot and everything. This chapter is relatively shorter than the others will be, but R/R please.

Disclaimer: These characters are definitely not mine.

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Hermione wanted to die in a field of flowers.

It was an ideal way to die, with beauty and life guiding her to darkness, giving her hope that there was a better place somewhere far away from here. Surely, if the earth could produce a scene so wonderful, heaven must be even more magnificent. She would pray that the people she loved could have the same, that the fear of the unknown would escape them knowing that earth's beauties were nothing compared to heaven. She would pray that Harry would find his parents and be able to hear all of the words that they've wanted to say to him since they left this earth. She wanted Harry to finally reach the happiness that he, in Hermione's mind, had always been promised. She wished for Ron to see his family again and to know that he is worth something more than what this cold world had offered him. And more than anything, she wanted to see her mom and dad and tell them that she wished she had been there sooner.

Instead, Hermione was going to die in Dumbledore's office. It was not a bad death, because she had her two best friends with her, but, at the same time, she didn't imagine she would be this young. Her body would be tortured and mutilated, and she wouldn't be able to say goodbye to anyone. The only motivation she had was that beautiful place she imagined beyond the clouds.

Not that she was giving up just yet.

They had been stuck in the Headmaster's office for Merlin knows how long, and there was still a small chance that they would get out alive. Dumbledore and Snape were intensely mumbling spell after spell on the door to keep the Death Eaters out, both limping from their exertion. They were bruised and bloodied, but their minds were still strong.

Harry and Ron were pacing and trying to figure out how to leave the castle without being detected. Harry had the most injuries as he was the one they were after, but he didn't seem to notice. Hermione was doing a little bit of both, and she was also destroying anything in the office that would help the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord.

This last order from Dumbledore made her sad, because the office was slowly losing its essence. Hermione was destroying all the objects that had fascinated her throughout the years. All the spy equipment, all the rare magical devices, all the muggle toys he collected, his rare books, and his treasures were being thrown away. She couldn't help but feel like she was depriving the world of something special.

"Dumbledore?" she asked as she reluctantly looked through the cabinet that contained his memories. "Do you want to keep these?"

The Headmaster glanced over as he silently swished his wand to create magical bolts on the door. He noticed Hermione standing next to the vials, her robes tattered, her hair a mess, and scratches covering her face and frowned a bit. Hermione glanced at him confusedly and was about to turn away when he said, "Can you please retrieve the vials that are midnight purple, Miss Granger."

"Can memories be midnight purple?" she protested in spite of herself.

"Hermione, just do it," Ron snapped. "This is no time to be a know-it-all, because that isn't one of our choices right now."

Hermione glared at him for a split second and couldn't help but be grateful at how normal he was acting despite their situation. Both of his eyes were almost swollen shut, he was limping, and his right hand was enlarged and turning a nasty shade of purple, yet he was still able to get annoyed with her.

Hermione almost wanted to cry until she heard a blunt banging noise from the other side of the door.

She glanced at Harry, who gave her that lopsided, messy grin for encouragement, and she rummaged through the cabinet, her sorrow at having to destroy priceless objects temporarily gone, quickly breaking vials of Dumbledore's memories as the bangs on the door started sounding like cannon fire. Her hands were shaking, and she swiftly glanced back at Snape and Dumbledore, working calmly on their defensive spells. In her mind, she knew the enchantments wouldn't be able to hold, because dark magic had its ways of manipulating its limits.

At last, after a minute of searching and countless of vials breaking, she saw the memories Dumbledore mentioned. They were in three bottles shaped like Harry's lightening bolt scar, and they held a certain intensity that made Hermione skeptical about touching them. She then looked at all the broken glass and made a mental decision to not think about how she had ruined part of Dumbledore's past. She hesitated for a split second more; then, she took the vials and quickly floated them over to Dumbledore.

"Severus," she heard him whisper as Snape mumbled a final spell. "It's time."

Snape nodded and took the vials from Dumbledore. He reached in his robe and pulled out a black box no bigger than the tip of a quill and enlarged it to store the vials. As he mumbled protective spells over the box, Dumbledore walked towards Harry and Ron and motioned for Hermione to come as well. To Hermione, this order was strange, because they were completely sacrificing the door to malicious dark magic. She uttered one last protective spell for her own benefit, rushed over, and almost tripped over an injured Malfoy.

Ron had actually carried him in there. Lucius and Bellatrix had been about to kill Ron when he went to go rescue Gryffindor's sword. Malfoy had been there as well and had been ordered to kill him, but instead, he turned his wand on his father and his mistress and killed them both. All along, we thought he had wanted Narcissa killed, but instead, Ron could tell at that moment that he had been torn by her death and that he had chosen against his father. Hermione didn't think that Ron would ever admit it, but he had allowed himself to trust someone that he had hated all of his life. Ron had changed for the better because of this battle; and, tripping over Malfoy had reminded Hermione that there was still hope for them.

Dumbledore saw Hermione's blunder and looked at Malfoy with calm but proud eyes. He was seriously injured – with heavy bleeding, bruises, and a possible concussion – but Dumbledore needed him awake, so he revived him knowing that he would be in pain.

When Malfoy woke up, he started yelling like he was being burned alive, his body convulsing, and his head banging against the stone floor. The other side of the door heard, and they taunted him as the cannon fire started sounding like a lightning storm.

"Oh that must be Draco. He sounds even more delicious now than he did in the torture room last week!"

"Scream like your mother did, boy!"

"Lucius should have killed you when you were born!"

Snape, done with his enchantments on the box, rushed over towards Malfoy to give him a potion bottle. It looked like black ink, but everyone in the order knew that it was Snape's secret cure for dark magic injuries. He forced Malfoy to drink the whole disgusting smelling bottle and waited. After a couple of seconds, the worst of his wound seemed to heal, and Malfoy was left on the floor limp and breathing heavily. Snape picked him up effortlessly and waited for Dumbledore to continue.

Dumbledore nodded at Severus before turning back to us with a twinkle in his eye. At the same time, he motioned with his hand, and the trio could hear the Phoenix cage opening. Fawkes, having been reborn again two months prior, flew out and looked to be in the first blooms of youth. His feathers were like fire and his eyes could pierce through the darkest of souls. The majestic bird flew onto Dumbledore's arm and clipped his neck with his beak. Dumbledore smiled and walked to the back of the office.

Hermione found it strange that he would be so calm when death was literally knocking at the door.

Harry and Ron gave each other looks and followed him, fascinated by how purposeful his strides were. Snape followed with Malfoy in his arms, and his strides were just as purposeful, if not a little gentler for Malfoy's sake. Hermione followed a little more cautiously, a little perturbed by Dumbledore's behavior. Something told her that Harry, Ron, and her had been left out of another secret.

As they reached their destination, the trio watched in wonder as Dumbledore stared pensively at his books. Hermione had always wondered why the books in the middle shelf always looked brand new despite the fact that the Headmaster claims that they were all old editions. She once asked if she could borrow one, because she had run out of reading material in the library, and Dumbledore refused her for the first time.

The trio stared at him skeptically as Dumbledore rapidly and deftly seemed to pull out random books from the shelf. While he was working, the front door was still holding up, but the frequency of the Death Eater attacks were increasing, and the door sounded like it was aching and weary. Hermione cast yet another protective spell on the door, even though it was an unnecessary precaution, and turned back to what Dumbledore was doing. After just a couple of seconds, the missing books formed an arch pattern in the shelf. He then turned to Fawkes and gently whispered to him. The bird seemed to understand and flew off of Dumbledore's arm towards the bookcase, stopping when he reached the arch. The Phoenix opened its wings and immediately started singing a haunting melody.

"Is he mourning?" Hermione asked Harry, trying to figure out what was going on. She had never heard of this type of ritual before, and she was a bit skeptical about whether it was the right time to be attempting it.

"No," he answered as he wiped some grime off of his glasses. He was curious, but he wasn't as troubled as Hermione. "The melody is dark, but it's not mourning. It seems to be summoning something."

"Well, it bloody hell better be an army," grumbled Ron, his mood getting sourer as his hand became larger.

Snape perceived this, rolled his eyes, adjusted Malfoy in his arms, and swished his hand at Ron, healing the swelling. He then adjusted his robes and said, "Perhaps you should have paid attention to all of those hospital visits you've procured for yourself over the years, Mr. Weasley."

Ron scoffed indignantly but didn't answer back, grateful that Snape had healed his hand.

Hermione couldn't help but smile at that, because once again, some more powerful being was giving her a last taste of the people she loved before she had to suffer. Harry, who was watching her, knew exactly what she was thinking and leaned over to squeeze her hand. Hermione smiled briefly before noticing a blinding glow coming from the bookshelf. The light was ethereal blue, and Hermione thought that maybe Dumbledore had opened a veil of some sort. It must be, because the only light she remembered looking this haunting was the one in the Department of Mysteries two years ago.

Was he allowing them a painless flow into the afterlife?

Before Hermione could examine the door, Ron bravely walked forward. At one point, he looked like he was about to poke it, but thought better of it and took his hand back.

Dumbledore smiled at his behavior before his demeanor turned serious again. He looked the small gathering, smiled sadly and then looked pensively at the door, it's bangs becoming louder still, before starting. "It would appear that we are at a loss," he started and cleared his throat, the scratchiness of it coming from the strain of battle. "We have been betrayed, and we should not feel any hostility, any spitefulness towards him despite what he has done to us. The Lovegoods are a wonderful family and he was being threatened with his daughter."

Despite what Dumbledore said, Harry and Ron's fist clenched at the mentioning of Mr. Lovegood. Hermione thought he was still a good man, and he did all that he did without knowing Luna was dead. Dumbledore pretended not to notice their reactions and adjusted his glasses. "Therefore," he continued. "I have given us a safety net, hoping that the fate of the world can change." He smiled half-heartedly. "Maybe I am just being a fool. Maybe I do have high hopes; but that is exactly why we are different from them. We do not give up on the world. We believe that people have the will to fight evil." The door began shaking erratically; it's hinges whining as the wards were being taken down. Dumbledore's smile vanished. "We have five minutes for all of you to make a decision."

Harry frowned, stepping forward. "So you're not coming with us, wherever we're going?"

Dumbledore shook his head regretfully, knowing Harry was angry with him for keeping him in the dark again. "I'm afraid not Harry."

"But—"

"Hush Harry. We don't have time," Hermione said impatiently, secretly not wanting Harry to be mad at the man who has looked out for him for years.

Dumbledore's expression became tearful as he clasped his hands together, a gesture he usually does before asking people to do something dangerous for him. Hermione held her breath as the Headmaster continued. "Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco, and Severus. All of you need to make a choice to go back in time." He watched as their expressions turned blank and continued before they had time to question. "This door will lead you to a place in time where Tom Riddle's life was treading a very thin line. It will lead you back to his seventh year at Hogwarts, back when he made many of the critical choices in his life." He passed his hand over the portal, and the blue turned into bright orange, activating the portal. "You five have a choice. You can go back and possibly never make it to the present again, or you can stay, and we all die noble deaths. Both decisions are honorable, and both are difficult paths, but one could possibly save the world."

It was then that Draco decided to speak up, and though his voice was a little faint, it didn't take away from the incredulousness. "So, you want us to die or live in a different time and change events that could possible backfire. You really are an old crackpot."

At that comment, Ron made to leap for him, but Harry dragged Ron to the door, knowing that Ron was his best mate and that he would be there no matter what he chose. And as for Harry, his decision was made. The only people he loved and were still alive were in this room, and he knew they would follow him. "I'm willing to go back."

Ron looked at the door and shuddered, his mind made up as well. "It won't hurt will it?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "No, Mr. Weasley, it will not."

Ron nodded and punched Harry lightly in the arm, careful not to upset his bruises. Harry smiled at him and rubbed his arm despite Ron's gentleness. Ron then looked at Dumbledore square in the face and said, "Alright then, I'm in." He turned to Hermione, knowing her answer but asking anyway. "You coming?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and walked briskly towards them. She smiled at both the boys, and she knew that even though they could be making the wrong choice and nothing would ever come out of it, they would be wrong together. She then turned to Ron and replied, "Of course Ronald. Who else is going to do all the research?"

Hermione then turned to face Snape and Draco, two people she had loathed over her seven years at Hogwarts, and for some reason, she couldn't help but feel that they would all be alright. "What about you two?" she asked.

"Hell n—"

"Yes, Granger, we're coming too. I have a mission to do anyway." Snape answered, cutting Malfoy off.

Dumbledore's twinkle grew brighter despite the circumstances. His manner became brisk as the door started cracking. "I have been planning this for many years. All five of you will need to find me when you arrive. You cannot let anyone see any of you until then. When you meet me, tell me too look in the drawer."

"But what—"

"No questions Potter," Snape snarled before pushing Harry through the door unceremoniously.

"You bloody bastard!" Ron yelled before rushing through after him.

Hermione sighed and followed.

Snape threw Malfoy through as well (Malfoy cursing like a sailor until he fully crossed over) before turning to Dumbledore. "What if this plan doesn't work? What will happen to you?"

"Nothing unnatural Severus. I will die. It's just part of the cycle," he replied before patting him on the shoulder. Dumbledore then ducked from a curse sent through the door, the wards finally broken. "Remember your mission, Severus," he quickly reminded before dodging another curse.

Severus nodded, turned his back on the old man, and walked through the door.


	2. The Mistake

**A special thanks** goes out to my **first three reviewers** on this fic. Thank you so much for the compliments!

**Disclaimer**: The characters and other JKR possessions do not belong to me.

**Coming up:** Some arguing, some planning, and a special event in Hermione's life.

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**August 31, 1944**

They had been in the broom closet for one horrendous hour.

Of course, if one had to choose the most horrible part of the closet, they would initially choose the closet's sparse furnishings, which consisted of five brooms, a garbage bin, and a pail all unorganized in a small, claustrophobic room. There was no light, as wizards could use a simple Lumos spell to create it, and there were random cobwebs in the corners and stains on the walls with questionable origins. Obviously, this closet was made for those naughty students who had detention and had to clean the hallway by hand, which would make the chooser even more apt to pick the surroundings as the most terrible part of the closet.

Now, if the unfortunate person happened to sit in the closet for a few minutes, they would change their minds and recognize that the source of the terror stemmed from the overly exhausted humans occupying it.

After the group was adequately healed, they all agreed to hash out a plan. Harry and Malfoy were arguing in the middle of the small space about how to go about finding Dumbledore, which was pointless, since both boys were too drained to realize they were rambling. Malfoy, making his thoughts known through obnoxiously loud and arrogant comments, voiced that they should just rush out and try to find him, while Harry kept on reminding him that it could be the middle of the school year and a bunch of people could be walking around just waiting to notice them.

Ron was in a dark mood and took to muttering sarcastic comments under his breath, some of which consisted of phrases like "well eventually someone is going to get mad at us for taking their snogging closet" or "we can just all starve here". He deemed the most productive place to carry on his endeavors was sprawled lazily next to Hermione; which, in turn, caused the overworked chestnut-haired girl to feel more and more annoyed with them all, because Harry and Malfoy refused to listen to her, and Ron was taking up her designated personal space in the neat little corner she occupied.

Snape tried to quell the arguing at the beginning, but then he gave up and cast a Silencing Charm and the Lumos Spell before sitting on the garbage bin, his back facing them, and nursing the headache that was Harry and Malfoy.

As Hermione watched the argument unfold, she knew that they should have had a plan a long time ago, yet her brain was too exhausted and her limbs were too weary to attempt anything. Now that she was out of immediate danger, her body, to her brains consternation, wanted to curl up in a bawl and sleep into the next decade.

_Oh Dumbledore, _she thought, _why couldn't you have made this easier for us? Couldn't we have had more time to plan? Couldn't we have known? _

As Hermione thought this, she sank lower against the wall, her tailbone protesting with rage and her eyes squeezing shut in frustration. Despite her dirty appearance, her tired limbs and mind, the reality of the situation hit her hard in the face. They were running blind. The group, caught up in the danger and excitement of the moment, had not asked Dumbledore about the logistics of his plan. This irritated Hermione, because they had once again jumped to Dumbledore's plans without having a course of action. They just took a leap of faith, thinking that it was the only option to saving their world.

And even better, this particular group of people couldn't get along.

"What is the big deal with someone seeing us? We have our Hogwarts robes on," Draco argued, trying to intimidate Harry with his aristocratic Malfoy glare.

Harry, who was a good couple of inches taller than Malfoy, countered his glare and towered over him. His control had snapped, and as his fists balled at his sides, he yelled, "Because, Malfoy, our robes are torn up, dirty, and bloody. We all smell like corpses, and oh, by the way, WE'RE FROM THE FUTURE!"

At the word future, the Boy-Who-Lived shoved the ferret, too far gone into the argument to comprehend the limited space the closet provided. Malfoy pushed him back, and Harry tripped over Ron's legs, taking a very irate blonde and a couple of innocent brooms with him. Ron grunted as they landed on him – their limbs entangled at odd angles – and he quickly started to dodge two pairs of malevolent hands, both of which were out to kill the others.

Snape, who previously had his back to them, had grown weary of their arguing and turned around slowly and dangerously, and the four teenagers could feel the wrath brewing underneath based on the vein protruding from his forehead. The boys stopped fighting. Ron and Malfoy looked up at him with terror, while Harry gazed at him defiantly. Snape noticed Harry's insolence, and his nostrils flared, meaning that his anger was to a degree that neither of the boys had ever seen. Hermione simply raised her eyebrows in amusement in the hopes that he could curse their mouths shut.

He didn't disappoint.

"You two," he hissed, pointing sharply at Harry and Malfoy, "have been arguing for one bloody hour. _One bloody, sodding hour! _Do either of you have _any idea_ how _long _that is? That's like having to listen to a bloody story from a relative that no one gives a _damn_ about for a whole afternoon. You," he growled, turning his attention to Ron, "have been no help at all. Your sarcastic comments have only served to make me think of all the ways I could force your mouth shut. And trust me Mr. Weasley, I know _every_ diabolical way in the book. And you," he hissed as he got to Hermione, "I thought you could control your two pets, but obviously you can't, and every single suggestion you made was redundant and unintelligent. You are a disgusting waste of life!"

Any other girl would have cried at his words, but Hermione smirked, because she hadn't even been able to finish a sentence since they got in there, making his accusation false. Also, she had always thought it was hilarious when Snape's monster vein made an appearance. She found it even more amusing that Voldemort had never been able to break Snape's mind, had never been able to discover the secret. The brunette certainly felt satisfied with herself when she realized that all the Dark Lord had to do was make the Potions Professor sit in a room with Harry and Malfoy and have them argue for hours on end.

'_Oh Voldemort', _she thought humorously,_ 'you forget the simple things in life'._

Snape, oblivious to her thoughts, took her smirk as an insult and sneered, causing his vein to take on a strange shade of purple. He tried to move to where Hermione was sitting so that he could loom threateningly over her, but since the space didn't allow it, he contented himself with simply brandishing his wand at her. "Wipe that smirk off your face Miss Granger, or I will curse you until your insides hurt."

Hermione's smirk grew to a sarcastic smile. "You could Professor, except that it would delay the mission even more, and you would have a hell of a time trying to hide my body," she pointed out while eyeing the closet, emphasizing her point. She then looked from her seething Professor, incoherent from anger and mental fatigue from her last comment, to the three boys in the room and saw that she finally had a chance to talk.

Boosted by her adrenaline, she seized her opportunity and stood, careful not to upset the remaining brooms on her right, and finally spoke her ideas. "Okay, so I cast a spell to see what time of day it is not too long ago. Right now, it should be around three in the afternoon."

"And how is that going to help?" Malfoy interrupted, his tone deceptively bored, even though Hermione knew he was livid and tired. Harry and Ron were on either side of him with malicious looks on their faces. They looked at each other without assessing the risk factor, gave a nod, and punched him hard in the arm. Malfoy howled in pain as Harry and Ron snickered, and out of the corner of her eye Hermione saw Snape raise his wand.

She quickly continued before he could cause any harm. "Okay, think about it. Dumbledore planned this, and he knows a lot more about the laws of time than we do." At her logic, the group visibly calmed down, except for Snape, who still had a dark look on his face. She smiled and mentally patted herself on the back. "That means that he wouldn't have been stupid enough to make us travel back on a day where there are loads of people meandering about."

"I beg to diff—" Harry and Ron punched their blonde nemesis harder than the previous before he finished his sentence. Snape sniffed, because, as Hermione guessed, he probably thought that Malfoy deserved that one.

The brunette tried to quell her laughter before soldiering on, aware that after her brief adrenaline rush, the day's events were starting to take a toll on her. She wanted to leave the broom closet as fast as possible so that, no matter where they ended up, she could sleep. "So, I think that we are relatively safe today. We just need to stay away from teacher's offices and common areas."

Hermione then turned to Harry, an idea popping into her head. "Did you lose your invisibility cloak from the battle?"

Harry hesitantly checked the pocket of his robe and smiled. "Nope. Still have it."

Hermione, her body now so relaxed that she was slightly delirious, looked at the raven-haired boy and smirked, feeling no need to consider the consequences of her actions; and he smirked back, knowing what she was thinking. Hermione then turned her mischievous gaze to Snape and Malfoy, her fatigue affecting her level of compassion for their predicament. Malfoy looked befuddled and Snape looked positively murderous, silently warning Hermione to not do anything she'll regret. At their reactions, Harry quickly held the cloak out for Hermione and Ron and swiftly opened the door.

Before ducking under the cloak, Hermione turned back and said, "There's no room for all of us under the cloak. We'll wait for Dumbledore in the Transfiguration office," and left before the other two could say a word.

When the door clicked shut again, Snape sighed heavily. He didn't know if that insufferable Gryffindor girl was right about the date, but he sure as hell knew that permanent Disillusionment charms were blocked from Hogwarts. His eyes narrowed at the list of dreadful possibilities that could happen as they made their trek over to Dumbledore's office, mentally cringing at some of the thoughts that passed through his mind. He looked at Malfoy, knowing the boy wouldn't make it any easier "The war has made that witch ruthless," he sighed. He then looked at his Slytherin companion for a response, but, instead, Malfoy looked so confused that he had to ask, "What's wrong with you boy?"

"Why are we going to the Transfiguration Office?" he asked, not well versed in Dumbledore's history.

Snape sighed, fixed the their tattered, bloody robes, and cast a temporary Disillusionment charm on the both of them. "You'll see. And follow carefully. Those Gryffindors may have an invisibility cloak, but they forgot to fix their appearance."

Draco sighed. "How very Gryffindor of them."

* * *

**30 min later**

As Snape and Malfoy stumbled into the Transfiguration office, the trio was already having tea with a younger, red-haired Dumbledore.

It was a small, quaint, pentagonal shaped office that would appear plain had it not been decorated with some of Dumbledore's most eccentric possessions. Snape recognized bobbles and mysterious objects from when he was -- or is going to be, in this case -- at Hogwarts scattered on the younger Albus's desk – a medium sized, but sturdy, rectangular oak that resided in the middle of the room facing them. There were selves everywhere that were overfilled with a large collection of books. The floor was covered in the future Headmaster's favorite oriental rugs -- so mismatched yet so unique – and the walls were decorated with portraits of strange colorful places and even stranger people. The one window to the right of the bookshelf seemed to let in enough light to illuminate the world.

The Slytherins looked at the scene and then looked at each other, both livid and disgusted that Harry, Hermione, and Ron, all sitting in a row, looked clean and happy with teacups in their hands while they just went through a particularly annoying experience.

On their way over to the office, it seemed like the five people that were currently residing in the school had to find a way to cross their paths, making them take detours that led them around the castle twice. It didn't help that, during the times they had to recast the Disillusionment charm, all the portraits noticed them and wondered in an obnoxiously loud voice at who the intruders were and what their purpose was; which, in turn, attracted curious people like flies to honey, making the two Slytherins have near miss encounters with several people.

Dumbledore, oblivious to the hostility, smiled brightly.. He then conjured two extra seats to the left of Harry and placed two extra teacups on his desk. "Please sit down," he admonished as he poured some tea for them.

Malfoy and Snape rigidly walked to their assigned chairs, ignoring the tea, and rudely appointed Dumbledore as their enraged glare target. The wizard being targeted, however, seemed rather amused by their behavior and waited expectantly for them to sit. Once they were situated, they turned their death glares to the three Gryffindors, who had three knowing grins on their faces, which incited a slight growl from Malfoy. Hermione noted that their fatigue had caused the two Slytherins to lose their decorum, with Snape openly acting on his hostility and Malfoy sounding like he belonged in a zoo.

Ron was about to comment on Malfoy's slightly animalistic behavior when Dumbledore interrupted. "I'm assuming these are your friends?" he questioned, directing his gaze at the trio.

"Yes," Hermione blurted before Ron could answer. She then gave the red head a warning look before plastering a smile back on her face, trying exceptionally hard to not pass out from the exhaustion of battle. Despite her body being clean, she was sure her cinnamon-colored eyes were glazed over and bloodshot from days of not sleeping.

_You can sleep later Hermione. We need to get this done first._

The brunette tried sitting up a little straighter in her seat and focus on her Headmaster's younger, friendly face to keep her awake. She saw the questioning look in his blue eyes and decided being blunt was the best decision. "We need help."

"What kind of help are you asking for Miss—?"

"Granger," Hermione finished, rearranging a rogue curl behind her ear.

What followed was an awkward silence, as Hermione didn't know what to say. Her mind was fuzzy, and the memory of her last moments in Dumbledore's office was avoiding her grasp. She tried not to get frustrated, tried to remember that she was still trying to save the future and that she had to recall what she was told in order to move on. Hermione looked to her left at Harry desperately, and he gave her a questioning look. He furrowed his brow at her, which caused Hermione to catch a glimpse at his infamous, slightly visible scar on his forehead. In a flash, her repressed emotions overtook her, and she felt the events from Dumbledore's office replay in her mind.

_Can you please retrieve the vials that are midnight purple, Miss Granger?_

_The melody is dark, but it's not mourning. It seems to be summoning something._

_It would appear that we are at a loss._

_Hush Harry. We don't have time._

_This door will lead you to a place in time where Tom Riddle's life was treading a very thin line._

_You five have a choice._

_When you meet me, tell me to look in the drawer._

'_Oh, in the drawer,' _Hermione remembered, her intense thoughts finally settling into sadness. She looked back at younger Dumbledore, and tried to focus even though her feelings from her flashback lingered in her mind. '_Be strong' _her exhausted brain encouraged as she returned her attention to Dumbledore. Shaking her head slightly, she said, "We need you to check the drawer."

At the young girl's words, grave understanding shadowed his face, and the corners of his lips curved slightly downward, showing the distress her comment gave him. He sat down in his chair behind the desk, clasped his hands together under his chin and stared pensively. "So, the seer was correct," he pondered aloud.

"The Seer?" Ron asked, confused.

"Yes, Mr. --?"

"Weasley."

"Right, Weasley," Dumbledore repeated as he reclined in his chair. "Yes, the resident Divination Professor, Madame Silwen, decided to recite a prophecy in the middle of tea last week." He smiled reminiscently at the memory.

Hermione put some effort into leaning forward, more than a little intrigued and asked, "What prophecy?"

Dumbledore paused as if he was trying to remember the prophecy, but really, the Time Travelers could tell he was considering whether he should impart his secret on them. He then shifted his gaze to a random spot on the wall and repeated "the drawer" under his breath before finally deciding that they were worthy enough for the information he held.

"The summary of the prophecy," he declared, unclasping his hands and resting them on his desk, "is that we are housing a child that will one day try to turn the world into shadow and blood. He will _divide_ the wizarding world and suck the magic out of those who oppose him." The wizard leaned closer to the group sitting before him, searching for something in their faces. "And you three are telling me that this prophecy is _true_?"

The two Slytherins stared gravely while the trio looked at one another with knowing looks. Hermione, seeing that no one else would speak, took a deep breath. "Yes, Professor, it is, because, unfortunately, we have lived it."

She took out her wand and put it to Harry's temple, asking with her eyes for permission. As emerald green met cinnamon, he looked at her questioningly and Hermione smiled back in reassurance. Harry nodded, giving her silent consent.

"I assume you still have your Pensieve?" she asked, turning back to the future Headmaster. Dumbledore nodded at her question and took out his wand. "Then take this memory and see for yourself," she insisted while wordlessly withdrawing a silver strand of memory from Harry's temple and connecting her wand with Dumbledore's, hoping that Harry concentrated on giving the wizard the right images.

Memory in hand, the Professor headed towards a small door Hermione hadn't noticed before. From what she could see, it was a small back room that contained a trunk, which she assumed contained the Pensieve. After ten minutes of waiting, he reemerged and returned to his seat, his blue eyes twinkling while he absentmindedly twisted his beard around his fingers. "It would appear that the prophecy is correct," he informed them, as he gave a thankful nod to Hermione and Harry. He then stared at the green-eyed boy peculiarly. "I assume you are the Boy Who Lived?" he inquired.

Harry nodded in response.

"Well, how odd."

Harry felt his green eyes squint and stare at him in confusion. Hermione, her lips quirking at Dumbledore's last comment, took the opportunity to ask, "Excuse me sir, but, was that all the prophecy mentioned?"

Dumbledore moved his level gaze to Hermione and replied, "No, of course not, Miss Granger." He clasped his hand together again and placed them back under his chin, a gesture he does when he discloses important information. "Most of the information is already known by the pictures I saw from Harry's visions. But," he paused, lost in thought. His eyes clouded over, but just as quickly, he returned his attention to the Time Travelers. "But," he began again, "his soul must be whole in order for it to be conquered."

At his words, everyone comprehended the reason Dumbledore had sent them back in time. They had to stop Voldemort from dividing his soul. They had to take away every chance he had to ever return to this earth.

As Hermione glanced at Snape, she could see his brain working on a plan. She figured that he was the only one out of the five Time Travelers that knew exactly how to conduct the mission, and for some odd reason, the Potions Master kept that information a secret. Hermione didn't know the exact logic behind his decision, but she knew it was Dumbledore's orders. No one else would keep vital information from them.

As soon as Snape noticed Hermione watching him, his face went blank and he turned nonchalantly to look at Dumbeldore. "Is there a way to let them repeat their 7th year here?"

Dumbledore's face produced a slight smile as he thought of the possibility. The teenagers held their breaths while they waited for him to reply, knowing that they needed to be here in order to get to _him_. At last, after long painful seconds, he nodded. "Yes, I can simply tell the Headmaster that you have all been privately tutored and have decided to join Hogwarts. A bit far-fetched in my opinion, but it is the best excuse, and they are more than likely to believe me. However," he paused as his features sculpted themselves into a look of urgency, "if anyone becomes suspicious of you, then records will be checked. So, I suggest you lot not let any doubt surround your reputations."

The group stared at him gravely, silently telling him that they understood. The twinkle returned to his eye and he stood briskly from his seat. "Very well then. I will go inform the Headmaster. After the sorting, I will come back and escort you to your Houses. I'm assuming that you four are willing to return to your original lodgings?" The four adolescents nodded in response. Dumbledore then stood up and calmly walked to the door, opened it, and left.

Snape, without a second thought, got up and started pacing. The students could see that he was racking his mind for a way to make use of the gift they were given. After a couple of seconds, he stopped and looked at them with the same intensity he employed during tactic meetings. "You four need to figure out your stories," Snape commanded.

"Us four?" Ron asked, confused and scratching his head. "What about you?"

"I have a mission to do that will not allow me to stay at Hogwarts," he snapped as he started pacing again. "You four are charged with the task of destroying the Dark Lord."

"How?" asked Harry, running a frustrated hand through his already messy hair, feeling agitated that Dumbledore had kept information from him again. "We haven't been given anything. We were just shoved into some sort of loony time portal with the hopes of possibly saving the world from utter ruin. And what's even better is that the wizard who practically pushed us through gave us no time to prepare and no achievable goals aside from changing the fate of the Earth. And Merlin, if that's the only thing we have to do, then the whole world can be thankful at how easy our task is. They'll be saved in no time!"

Hermione, feeling his frustration at the world – Dumbledore's secrets, the mission, his tiredness – put her hand on his arm and squeezed. He was probably the most drained out of all of them, and Hermione knew, from the bottom of her heart, that The-Boy-Who-Lived always questioned why he was dealt this fate. He always felt as if he wasn't meant for this, and that the forces above had given him a task that nature would not allow him to complete. Harry just wanted to be a normal boy, and everyday, Hermione wished she could take his burden. She knew that Ron wished the same as well, if only to give him a joyful period of freedom.

Snape, not comprehending the source of Harry's anger, decided to ignore his outburst for his own sanity. Instead, he solemnly answered, "That, I'm afraid, was not enclosed to me. Dumbledore only informed me to use any means possible."

"Well," Harry snapped, incensed by Dumbledore's secrets, "why can't he tell us? Does he think that we have the time to sit and think? No, we don't. Riddle is gathering followers as we speak, while we sit here and think about all the things that Dumbledore should have told us!"

By this point, Snape's vein was pulsating erratically, but he controlled his anger for the sake of his task. The Potions Master quickly snatched the plain black wooden box Dumbledore gave him and started muttering spells to lift the wards he previously placed on it. When the wards were lifted, he opened it, took out three small black objects and placed them on the floor. With a swish of his wand, he enlarged the objects, and they took the shape of regular-sized trunks.

Malfoy eyed them with disdain. "I assume that's for the Golden trio," he stated darkly.

"Sorry Malfoy," Harry said, his left over hostility giving his apology an insincere edge. "Obviously Dumbledore didn't expect that you'd be tagging along with us."

"Well sorry that I wasted my time saving Weasley's ass and getting stuck on one of your _wild_ adventures, Potter," he retorted mockingly, offended that he didn't get a trunk.

Before Harry could reply, a flash of red hair hurried past Harry and Hermione to Malfoy's chair and faced him full on.

"Sorry Malfoy," Ron said grudgingly but genuinely to the shock of the others in the room. "I never said thanks for saving me." The red head then extended his hand in the blonde's direction, and together, they made history – a Malfoy shaking hands with a Weasley.

It would be a complete understatement to say that Harry and Hermione were shocked.

"Now that the fluff is over --." Snape drawled, obviously pressed for time. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him for ruining the moment as Harry coughed to quell the awkwardness. "—we need to move on."

His manner turned brisk as he opened the trunks with a slight swish of his wand. "These are accessories that Dumbledore anticipated a use for in this mission of ours. They include time appropriate clothes, refillable toiletries, and other items that you Gryffindors should look through once you are alone in your dorms." He then withdrew a tiny brown square from the main black box and enlarged it. "Mr. Malfoy, I will allow you to use my travel kit. Do the necessary spells on them to suit your needs. I will ask for provisions from Dumbledore when he returns."

He then grabbed another item from the box and enlarged it in his hands. It turned in to a stack of papers, and he swiftly handed them to the trio. "These are your birth certificates. These will give you proof that Hogwarts is allowed to provide your education, but if they are researched, there will be no information present under the name on those certificates, so if I were either of you three, I would be cautious about who I trust," he warned, looking at the three of them pointedly. By that time, the Gryffindors only had the strength to nod in agreement. Snape saw their acknowledgement and continued. "Of course, Draco, you will have to wait for yours. I cannot stay here for very long, so I will ask Dumbledore to make one for you."

Finally, he closed the black box and walked over to Hermione. She stared at the box quizzically, thinking it too simple to hold this vast amount of information. "Miss Granger," he addressed sternly, "you are entrusted with this black box by Dumbledore's orders. You will find the three vials and another packet with facts about seventeen year old Tom Riddle. Dumbledore has faith that you will know how to use them."

"But how--?"

"Oh hush Miss Granger," Snape snapped. "I am telling you everything I know right now. Despite your opinions of me, all of you," he emphasized, looking at each one of them, "are going to have to trust me." He then looked at all of them even closer, his eyes squinting in what looked like a desperate attempt to assess them; and then suddenly, all tiredness forgotten, his black eyes opened wide and became slightly teary from the plead hidden deep within them. Even Ron, who was completely indifferent towards the unfeeling dungeon bat, found this display surprising in its intensity.

"You need to kill him," he said urgently. "No matter what it takes. Be on your guard and be smart. Do not give your trust away. We have a future to save."

* * *

**_8:06 PM the same day_**

"Have you memorized your identities?" questioned Snape, weary of having to spend hours with a bunch of sarcastic teenagers in 1944. His attempts at making them memorize facts about Tom Riddle and drilling their new identities into them had the group on the verge of total collapse. Their afternoon spent together had caused a rapid rise in tempers, and their bodies were begging for rest.

"Yes," Hermione replied, attempting to be cooperative even though her mind screamed for a warm bed. "I'm basically me, except in 1944." Apparently, Dumbledore didn't think that her name was a threat and allowed her to keep her identity.

"And I'm her brother," Harry added monotonously, his body shifting into auto pilot in it's attempt to save his brain. "We're twins. End of Story. Shouldn't be too hard."

"I'm Ron Smith. I'm utterly unoriginal and boring," Ron answered sarcastically. He was a little miffed that Dumbledore couldn't be more original with him.

Harry, Hermione, and even Malfoy snickered.

"Oh c'mon, Ron. I didn't even get a new name," Hermione said consolingly.

Harry, on the other hand, had forgotten his frustration in favor of making fun of Ron. His best mate had to undergo a slight change in appearance to fit his description in his birth certificate. Now, Ron was a brunette, and he was clear of his freckles, which made him look less like a Weasley and more like Harry. Needless to say, it was extremely hard for the Boy-Who-Lived to stop sniggering, earning him several punches in the arm and dark glares.

Hermione, despite his attitude, was sure Ron wouldn't have a problem with it, at least not the same problem that Malfoy had. In the past couple of hours, she had witnessed a grown man whining about the cruelty of life as Snape and Harry held him to a chair while she performed a glamour to turn his hair from white blonde to dirty blonde. The brunette had lived long enough to see suffering, but nothing was compared to the petulant rampage of Draco Malfoy.

"This isn't fair!" he whined, tugging on a handful of his hair to emphasize his point. "This right here is what makes me a Malfoy."

"And that is exactly why we have to change it," Hermione countered, her fatigued brain not having the energy to provide her with the sarcastic edge she needed. "You can't be a Malfoy in this decade. Your grandfather goes here."

Malfoy's stare turned livid, but instead of turning away, she summoned the small tank of Gryffindor strength left and stared back. "Listen Draco," she demanded, using his first name for the first time. "If this is going to work, we are going to be civil to one another – or even better, friendly – and call each other by our first names. That way, people here can believe that we have all been home schooled together for however many years."

"And as far as I'm concerned, the know-it-all is right," Snape agreed, cutting off Draco's retort. He gave the blonde Slytherin a warning glance before firmly stating, "So you lot will behave and try to destroy that bastard. Now Draco, what is your last name."

Draco rolled his eyes but complied, his hair forgotten. "I am Draco Rothschild, a fairly prominent pureblood family."

"I've never heard of that name before," Hermione commented.

"And neither has anyone here," Severus replied snappily. "And you better keep it that way Granger."

Just as Snape was about to continue, they heard a knock at the door. Snape, irate that he ran out of time, answered it and found red-haired Dumbledore waiting patiently to be received. As he walked in, his blue robes floating teasingly around him, he found the tense atmosphere surrounding him amusing, causing slight befuddlement in the Time Travelers. The corners of the Professor's mouth twitched slightly as he motioned with his hands for the teenagers to follow.

Before they trudged out of the room, Snape firmly reminded them to stay on their guard and to plan their mission. Malfoy was the only one who made an attempt to acknowledge him – the others either not caring or not aware of their surroundings -- and as the door closed, his mind used a great deal of strength to remember that Snape was leaving, and he fleetingly wondered whether his favorite teacher would be alright, whatever he was doing.

* * *

**8:40 that same night**

The House of Godric Gryffindor was the same as it will be in the future. The common room was small and cozy, with a warm fire that complimented the homely red and gold color scheme. There were always people milling about, studying at the many work desks, playing, or gossiping about the latest break up. The walls and floor were draped with beautiful carpets and portraits, adding to the comforting atmosphere of the room. Then there was the trio's favorite feature about the room – the two oval-shaped windows in the tower, which allowed any Gryffindor to watch the night sky or the grounds below and be at peace with the world. On rainy days, they would look out the window and quietly observe the wonders of nature, never for one second thinking about the strife they were going through.

These details, particularly the last one, depressed the Gryffindors, because this tower created some of their best memories, but none of the people who participated and made appearances were born yet.

At their entrance with the Head of House, the tower fell silent. The trio felt as awkward as if they had just appeared naked. Harry took his glasses off and wiped them as Ron shifted his weight, trying to make the situation less awkward. Hermione was mentally losing her cool – her lack of sleep contributing to her volatile temper – but outwardly, she stood frozen in place, afraid to move.

Professor Landers, the current House Head, greeted her tower with a smile. "Good evening," she boomed, in a friendly but authoritative tone. "We have some knew developments."

"Obviously," someone remarked sarcastically.

"Don't make me deduct points, boy," Professor Landers threatened. She stared at the boy for two more excruciating seconds before continuing. "We have three new home school students who have been selected into the House of Godric Gryffindor – our House. I expect you all to welcome our newcomers warmly and," she paused, staring at the same boy she had threatened earlier, "no pranks tonight. You know I will not hesitate in taking points away." She then turned on her heels, gave a small encouraging smile to the trio, and left, leaving the Time Travelers alone in a room full of curious Gryffindors.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione did not attempt to move, knowing that when they did, the stampede would follow. Nevertheless, Ron, being foolishly courageous, hesitantly raised his hand and waved, which triggered the hurricane of students wanting to know all about them. Ron and Harry tiredly tried to dodge their questions as they pushed their way towards the stairs, but Hermione got lost in the crowd. She knew she wouldn't be able to make it to the stairs without being mauled to death, so she decided, against her body's protests, to take a better, more frequently traveled route from the portrait hole to the library.

* * *

**9:00 PM Library**

As soon as Hermione opened the doors, she pushed her curls from her face and took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of mahogany, worn leather, and thousands of old and crusty pages. The smell had always comforted her, and in spite of her mental and physical fatigue, the presence of books made her feel safe, and she needed the relief they offered to come to terms with the events of the day.

As if by magic, her feet carried her rapidly towards the restricted section, disregarding the fact that she needed special permission, and started searching the shelves. She wanted to lose herself in a book, and the books in the restricted section interested her enough to the point where she could let go of reality in any subject matter for hours. The brunette scanned the shelves, desperate for a book, but her searching efforts were discouraged by the thoughts her rogue mind was flashing to her consciousness.

The witch saw the scenes of the Order's planning period for the defense against the Dark Lord. Those images made Hermione feel as if Harry, Ron, and her failed. Their side had been too tentative, too safe to combat the evil that wanted to take over the world. The fear made them blind to the attack being planned on Hogwarts, and once it happened, they couldn't make it stop. The Death Eaters were everywhere killing everything and everyone in their way, ruthlessly searching Hogwarts for the infamous Harry Potter. The Seer had been right about Tom Riddle turning the world into shadow and blood; he gave the world a preview as he murdered young wizards and witches at a school, not differentiating between their bloodlines, but killing for the sake of killing. Hermione was bitter, and she felt that she could have done so much more to prevent all those horrible events from happening.

Now, they had a second chance, and Hermione's head was spinning from the luck Dumbledore bestowed upon them. They had left their world with no time to seriously think about the repercussions and the unexpected changes their Headmaster's plan would create, but they had walked through the portal regardless to possibly, unknowingly give the future a chance at freedom.

Hermione was even more astonished at the amount of work Dumbledore spent on the planning of their mission. He gave them fake birth certificates, clothes, and other essentials, knowing that they would all agree to go back in time and to attempt something that has never been attempted before. Who knew whether it would work? There were so many things that could go wrong with something as risky as their endeavor.

Yet, they had to try for the sake of the future, for every innocent who died, everyone they loved.

And what about Tom Riddle? She knew the description of his appearance, and she knew a little about his history, but Harry, Ron, and her had not even discussed how they would lure him to his death. Their plan would contain plenty of risks, and it would take a long time to achieve, possibly time they didn't have. But no matter what, they had to kill him.

Hermione shuddered, because despite the fact that she knew she had to do it, she didn't like thinking and planning murder, even if the person they planned to kill will turn out to be a raging lunatic.

And how exactly were they going to kill him? They couldn't do it quick, because then Wizarding Law Enforcement would demand their lives. Would they curse him? Stab him? Strangle him? The younger Dark Lord was already a puzzle to the young Gryffindor, and it frustrated her that she couldn't simply solve him and start heading back to the future.

As she thought the word 'puzzle', her mind snapped slightly, causing Hermione to wake from her reverie and think. There were two objects hidden in Hogwarts, two objects he needed, and two parts of him that he wanted to throw out of his body. She also knew, from Harry's Pensieve experience, that one part of him was already missing, and she guessed that destroying it was part of Snape's mission. The chestnut haired girl, chastising her tired brain for forgetting, remembered that they couldn't simply curse him and leave. They had to kill his soul, every part of it, before they could truly be free.

And what about the 'midnight memories' (as Hermione had dubbed them in her mind)? She would have to do research on colored memories and hope that the procedure to watching them would be fairly simple. Could she simply pour them in a Pensieve? She knew that the memories were legit, because the ones that were tampered with were a sickly yellow, but how could a whole memory turn a dark shade of purple? As her mind worked, her feet moved, and in a matter of minutes, Hermione was breathing like she was running a marathon. She zigzagged through the shelves deftly, not knowing where she was going but knowing what she would find. Her chestnut hair became wild, and she gave up all attempts at trying to remove the strands from her face. She had a long day, and after the horror of the morning, Hermione felt a little piece of happiness as she perused the shelves.

Well, at least until someone interrupted her rhythm.

She knew it was a someone because she ran into a springy object, a quality most inanimate objects in a library lack. As Hermione slowly came back to reality, she distinguished a mass of black robes and a gray sweater, two articles of clothing essential to the Hogwarts uniform. She retreated a couple of steps, but still, she couldn't help but notice the smell of soap and mint and she comprehended, with her pulse beating ever faster, that she had run into a very dark-haired, tall, very annoyed man.

Hermione smiled weakly and straightened her robes. "I'm sorry," she apologized, trying to sound as innocent as possible. "I didn't realize that you were standing there."

"Obviously," the boy replied in a deep baritone.

Hermione tried not to look startled by the coldness and the biting sarcasm in his voice. By the sounds of it, she had run into someone who had already judged her and disliked her because of her mistake. She didn't let that feeling deter her, however, and she stepped forward, causing the boy to take a couple of steps back. The Gryffindor frowned in confusion, and she quickly grabbed the book she wanted and started to head off. Before Hermione could take one step away, she felt a strong force pull her back.

"I need that," the boy said firmly, with a slight threat in his voice.

Hermione was chilled by it, as if he had threatened her death; but truth be told, Lord bloody Voldemort had threatened her far worse than death, so she would not let some random prat in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library take something away from her. She summoned all of her remaining strength, her tank almost empty, to participate in what would hopefully be her last row of the day. "I grabbed it first," she said, and mentally cringed at how not intimidating she sounded.

"Yes, you insufferable girl, you did," he retorted, his voice lowering dangerously, "but I need it more, and I was standing here before you, so give me the book." At his command, he tugged firmly on the object in question.

Hermione was not going to relent, and she hoped her strength wouldn't give up on her as she turned around to face him. "Why do you need it so much?" she asked boldly, raising an eyebrow for effect. She popped a hip to look defiant, but inwardly, she mentally slapped herself for her bad choice as she swayed slightly from the exertion of her motion.

Not noticing, his expression turned dark and foreboding, like the calm before the storm, and the force of his menace took Hermione aback. "It is none of your business," he replied curtly, his hold tightening. "Now, curfew is soon, so use your common sense and hand me the book."

The Gryffindor girl knew that he was not going to give up until he had it, but she also felt like she couldn't argue for much longer. Letting her instincts take over her body, her adrenaline kicked in, her hand braced on the book, her pulse raced, and she quickly tried to justify in her weary mind what she was about to do. _He's not a threat, he's not a threat, he's not a threat, he's not a threat. Voldemort has tried to kill you, and this boy only wants a book. Oh Merlin, here it goes._

She looked up, and saw that the boy was still waiting expectantly, arrogantly, and that smug look gave her the courage to lift up her foot and stomp on his unsuspecting toe. The boy hissed from the pain and loosened his hold on the book, giving Hermione the chance she needed to yank it from him and run out of the library, not worrying about the consequences that boy would have for her in the future. She would deal with them when they came.

When she was in the safety of the hallway panting, sore, and wanting to curl up in a ball on the floor, she acknowledged how outrageous that boy's attitude came across. He spoke with authority, like he was the only one with the right to have the book, and he threatened her, like he knew she was going to give in. The audacity! Only Voldemort would have that kind of demeanor.

At that thought, Hermione's emergency energy reserve sparked again, and she mentally slapped herself in the face. As she arrived at the portrait hole, she looked down at her book titled _Soul Magic: Dangerous and Dark _and grasped why that unfriendly boy wanted the book.

Tom Riddle, a.k.a. Lord bloody Voldemort, wanted to separate his soul, and Hermione ruined his plans by stomping on his toe.

* * *

**A/N Another Special Thanks**: Thank you to **everyone** who read my first two chapters. I'm grateful that you even took the time to click on my story. **Please Please Please **review if you can and give me criticism (of the constructive kind), suggestions, a shout out, anything you want. Feedback helps me a lot when I'm trying to make my story better. So, once again, thank you so much for reading my story.

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	3. Potions With Tom Marvolo Riddle

**A/N: Special Thanks**

**Madame Dee: **I hope that, after your last review and your wonderful compliment, this chapter is to your liking. I spent a little more time on the Tom/Hermione classroom scene to make sure you had a good read.

**Ybs: **Thanks so much for your compliment and letting me know that I did alright with the plot. Also, thanks for the paragraph comment; I tried shortening them in this chapter, so let me know if I did better.

**Hajnalmadar: **Thank you for your compliment; I'm glad I could make you laugh. I also greatly appreciate the criticism, but Tom being cold in the library is actually part of the plot. The Tom Riddle you described is in this chapter, and I really do hope you like him! Review and let me know!

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**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.

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**September 1, 1944 7:00 AM**

"You stepped on his toe?" Harry asked incredulously, grinning from ear to ear on the trio's eighth first day of school.

The-Boy-Who-Lived seemed to be in a particularly good mood that morning, and Hermione suspected it was because 1) It was a wonderful first of September. The air was getting delightfully crisper, and the sun was out, emphasizing the beauty of the nature and creating the right balance for Hermione's ideal reading weather; and 2) Even though they were still dealing with the younger Lord Voldemort, he wasn't trying to kill him yet, making Harry feel considerably less burdened. And, most importantly, the day offered Harry the gift Ron and Hermione wished they could provide – the gift that let him live his life to the fullest without the wizarding world bearing their expectations on his shoulders.

Therefore, Hermione, despite her need to return to bed, was happy, too. She looked at Harry's expectant face as they turned a corner towards the Great Hall and smiled the brightest smile she's bestowed on anyone since the war started – well, even with her tiny accident.

"No Harry, I didn't step on his toe," she sighed knowing that whatever they were going to do with Voldemort, it wouldn't involve her, especially after the library incident. "I stomped it into the next millennia."

Ron, the one who found it the most amusing, snorted from the mental image he received. In his mind, since he hadn't truly seen Riddle, instead of stomping on younger Voldemort's foot, she stomped on the Voldemort with the red, squinty eyes and the hissy snake voice, causing him to find the situation much more amusing than Hermione thought it was.

The Gryffindor girl ferociously glared at him. "It's not funny Ronald."

"Of course it is Hermione," he rejoined, speeding up slightly as he spied the Great Hall a short distance away. "You've ruined his life. Harry's been waiting to do that for years!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, stopped short from entering the dining hall, and turned to face her annoying companion. "Ron, I highly doubt me taking one book out of the Hogwarts library is going to corrupt his diabolical plans," she stated matter-of-factly as she pushed an annoying chestnut curl behind her ear. "The books in the restricted section aren't even that dangerous compared to the ones he'll collect later in life."

The brunette then stepped closer to Ron and motioned for Harry to huddle in as well. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Now, when we get our schedules today, we need to find a particular meeting place where we can always go to discuss _him_. And we need to invite Mal – Draco."

Harry wrinkled his nose in disdain. "We're the Golden _Trio_ you know," he reasoned, hinting that he didn't want a fourth member.

"O c'mon mate," urged Ron, clapping him on the back for encouragement. "The git saved my life, so he can't be all that bad. It's time to get over all of that rubbish between the two of you." Ron grinned as Harry made another face. "Plus, he _is_ the closest one to You-Know-Who."

Hermione tried not to gape, surprised at how logical that sounded.

Harry, after a second of deliberation, sighed in defeat as the truth of Ron's logic hit him. He looked at Hermione, foolishly hoping that she would protest, but instead, she just simply nodded and made to head in for breakfast.

Ron, at Harry's dejected expression, put an arm around him and gave him what he coined a tight 'man squeeze'. "Oh, don't look so beat up Harry. This time last year – erm, 50 or so years in the future – you were worried about all of the people trying to kill you; and now, no one is! It's high time you actually go enjoy breakfast."

The-Boy-Who-Lived, despite himself, chuckled at Ron's comment before following an impatient Hermione into the Great Hall. At their entrance, a hush fell over the student body as they all stared shamelessly at the trio. Even though this reaction happened to the three Gryffindors often – especially with the media hounding Harry ever since he entered Hogwarts – they always felt awkward under the limelight. Hermione, already having anticipated this bothersome circumstance, took the boys' arms and dragged them to the first available spot at the Gryffindor table.

As the group plopped down, Ron immediately forgot everyone in the room and attacked the basket of toast in front of him. Harry sat next to Ron, surveying the food and looking unsure of what to do. Hermione, monitoring Harry warily from across the table, noticed this and helpfully spooned eggs into his plate, an action that was meant to silently tell him that it was alright to eat without worries.

Harry jumped a little at her actions – his notice of it delayed by his doubts and musings – and muttered a quick thanks, hesitantly picking up his fork. Those who were watching not too discreetly thought he was strange, but Hermione and Ron (once he looked up from his bacon) knew that being here in this time was especially strange for him. There was no war, no threats, no impending doom; there was just him and his two best friends enjoying breakfast.

As Harry gained more confidence and asked for more eggs, a tall, strapping, bronze-haired boy made a sudden appearance over Hermione's left shoulder.

"May I sit here?" he asked, though by the sounds of it, he knew Hermione wouldn't refuse.

Hermione was annoyed at his question but she rationalized that it wasn't wise to turn people away on the first day. Furthermore, Snape had stressed numerous times that they should build a reputation for themselves so that there was no mystery and suspicion surrounding them. Besides, if she actually had been stuck in home school with Harry, Ron, and Draco, she would be _dying_ to socialize.

After hesitating a moment longer, Hermione reluctantly motioned for him to sit.

He complied gingerly, as if waiting for her to change her mind; but when he made it into the seat, he turned to her and smiled. "I'm Jack," he introduced assertively, extending his hand.

Hermione, really not in the mood for over enthusiastic Gryffindors, shook it half-heartedly. "I'm Hermione," she replied back as civilly as she could, trying not to grate her teeth together. She gestured towards the boys. "The one stuffing his face is Ron, and the one with the glasses is Harry."

At their introductions, Harry gave a slight nod and Ron waved a fork full of sausage. Jack nodded back casually before turning his attention back to Hermione, polite inquiry etched on his face. "So home school, eh? What made you three decide to come to Hogwarts?"

The other students surrounding the small group boldly leaned in – letting their curiosity outweigh their courtesy – and Hermione guessed that Jack had been designated to get the dirt on the newcomers.

The brunette forced a smile, reciting the lines Snape gave her the previous afternoon. "Our tutor admitted to us that Hogwarts would teach us seventh year magic more proficiently then he could. Our parents agreed, so we were shipped here."

At her short story, Hermione heard the other Gryffindors start to murmur, each giving their own opinions on her reply. The Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables on either side greedily turned toward the Gryffindor table and tried to absorb the other's murmurings.

Jack, looking smug at the uproar he caused, turned to Harry and Ron and asked if they were interested in Quidditch.

Hermione, at the mention of the sport, tuned him out and searched the hall for Draco. He was harder to find, seeing as he didn't have his noticeable white blond hair anymore. After a couple seconds of looking, she noticed him three benches from the far right of the table and happily chatting to a couple of Slytherins. This surprised Hermione, as she didn't think his story would go over so well; but, on the other hand, Voldemort's blood divide hadn't happened yet, so the Slytherins must not be so obsessed with people's lineage.

After checking up on Draco, she scanned the table for someone else, someone with darker hair and an intimidating expression. Her eyes didn't have to travel far as he was sitting just two benches down from Draco and facing her. The Gryffindor's eyes squinted in disbelief as she noticed a crowd of people sitting around him and enjoying his company.

_Do people actually like him? _she thought doubtfully.

The brunette looked at Riddle even closer, just to make sure, and was dismayed at what she discerned

_That can't be. He looks so…charming? _

Hermione remembered, from her brief with Snape and from Harry's descriptions, that he was charismatic and attracted many people with his power, even at a young age. But, in this case, the Slytherins surrounding him didn't seem like just cronies, but honest to Merlin real friends. Yet, she quickly went through her encounter with him in the library and noted that the way he smiled at that moment, the way he drew people in with a story was completely different than the cold, menacing figure he had cut the previous night.

The brunette frowned as she stored this information in her brain. If Tom Riddle was acting for the crowd, then it would be a lot harder to take him away from them.

_And what about me_, Hermione pondered. _Why hadn't he used his charm to get the book? Did I really hit such a nerve that he would lose control on the first day of meeting me?_

Jack, more interested in the trio than the crowd after recruiting Harry and Ron for Quidditch tryouts, turned towards Hermione and quickly noticed where her stare was directed. "That's Tom Riddle," he muttered helpfully, discreetly pointing in the Slytherin's direction. "Resident Head Boy and the smartest young wizard of the age. He's an alright bloke despite him being a Slytherin."

The Golden Trio couldn't help but gawk at Jack dubiously. Ron's mouth opened into the shape of a perfect 'O', enhancing his shock and causing some of his apple juice to spill from his mouth. Harry adjusted his glasses, making sure that Jack was real, and Hermione stuffed her mouth with fruit so she wouldn't have to speak. After all, it wasn't everyday that Lord Voldemort was described as 'an alright bloke'.

"Why do you say that?" asked Harry with feigned interest after recovering from his shock, seizing the opportunity to get information on their target.

"Because everyone – teachers _and_ students – seem to think of him as some sort of golden boy," Jack replied nonchalantly while buttering a piece of toast. "And it's true. He's a model citizen, what with his powers and his excellent academic record. Why, a year or two ago he caught a boy named Hagrid with a flesh-eating spider and got him expelled. Think of the lives he saved by standing up to him!"

Hermione's eyes widened as she turned her gaze on Harry, silently pleading for him not to let his temper get to him. She could practically see his rage emanating from his skin, and she hoped to whoever was watching over them that Harry would see that it wasn't Jack's fault. He can't expect people to know that he had 'saved the population of Hogwarts' out of his own malice towards Hagrid.

Just when she lost hope and Harry's mouth was set for a retort, the schedules appeared on their table, and Hermione mentally wiped her brow for Jack's sake, knowing he dodged a bullet. She stood up, grabbed an apple, and motioned for Harry and Ron to follow. Harry got up gratefully and Ron looked disgruntled, but Hermione didn't care, because they had more problems than she had anticipated. She didn't even say goodbye to Jack as she briskly walked out of the Great Hall, heading towards the first empty classroom she could find.

She found one located to the hallway on the right of the Great Hall – sparse and dimly lit, with only a couple of desks piled up on the opposite wall and a dusty teacher's desk – but as she was about to close the door, a hand stopped her. Her heart skipped a beat as she slowly reopened the door, hoping it wasn't Jack or anyone else who was snooping for information. Hermione's breath caught, and she closed her eyes, afraid to look, until she heard a familiar voice.

"You know," Draco drawled, sauntering into the room while giving the trio a reprimanding look. "You're not helping your social lives by ignoring all the free attention you three have garnered."

"Never mind that," Hermione snapped, checking for others in the hallway before closing the door and muttering minor protective charms. "We have bigger problems to discuss. As I have discovered, Tom Riddle is more complex then we thought he'd be."

"What exactly do you mean Gran – Hermione?" He asked, intrigued.

Hermione quickly relayed her library incident to Draco, and he rolled his eyes in response, showing her that he didn't understand why she was overreacting. "Isn't that how the young creepy snake-like human is supposed to act? If you want to be a cold-hearted bastard, you have to start young." He then cockily pointed to himself and smoothly said, "Believe me, I know."

It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes. "No, I'm not saying his behavior is strange," she sighed, as she hastily gestured for Harry and Ron to pay attention. "We've received some interesting news. Apparently, our Mr. Riddle is quite popular here."

"Yes, I've gathered that," Draco replied sarcastically while crossing his arms in front of his chest. "That crowd of buffoons surrounding him alerted me." His gaze then turned puzzled. "So what exactly is the problem?"

Hermione sighed again, running an agitated hand through her messy chestnut hair. "The problem is that no one, absolutely_ no one_, knows who the real Tom Riddle is. Everyone perceives this image of an intelligent, charming, perfect boy, and no one has any idea that he will kill every single one of their children."

She put her tirade on pause as she refilled her air tank. The brunette then looked at her Gryffindor counterparts and found that Harry's facial expression indicated that he was mentally berating himself.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked concerned.

"I should have anticipated this," Harry said in a low voice. He then looked up at his best friends, a fierce gleam brightening his eye. "He's part of Professor Slughorn's 'club' and he's Head Boy. He knows how to charm to get what he wants, and he's talented. If we kill him, we'll have a whole school hunting for our heads."

"Right," Ron agreed. "So, how do we blow his guts out without getting killed ourselves?"

_Always straight to the point, Ron._

"Well, if he's the school's darling," Hermione contemplated, an idea burning bright in her mind, "then we'll have to unmask him."

"Alright", Ron said, nodding in understanding. He then turned towards the only Slytherin her could stand with an exited expression. "Draco, you should try befriending him. You know, invite him for a butterbeer, talk about girls, plan the enslavement of muggles – whatever you Slytherins do on a daily basis – and then, when you're all friendly, you take the magic carpet out from under him."

The unwilling blonde backed away from them, a warning in his icy blue eyes. "Don't you _dare_ ask me to do anything. I'm only here because I got stuck here, I hate Voldemort, and because Snape warned you three about your bizarre behaviors…Oh don't look at me like that Potter, you know it's true."

"But Draco, you must," Hermione pleaded, allowing her please-study-for-your-N.E.W.T.s-Ron- puppy dog face to appear, advancing on him and ignoring his small jab at Harry. "You must become his friend so we can ruin him from the inside. What other choice do we have when Harry, Ron, and I are in Gryffindor?"

Draco scowled. "Well it's not my fault that you were put in a house that he despises. I personally wanted to just go out and kill him, but no, the Slytherin's opinion is not taken seriously and, instead, you three want to _befriend_ him." He looked down his nose at the trio in contempt. "Your morals disgust me."

"O c'mon, Malfoy," Harry interjected seeing the benefit to using Draco as a spy. He, after realizing that the Slytherin could help, figured he should try to flatter his former arch nemesis into submission after not being very accepting of him in the beginning. "You're more talented with magic than any of the other Slytherins, and he'll definitely admire that. You're the only one in our group that can become close to him –" he pointed at Hermione with a mischievous look – "especially after this one ruined it by stomping on his precious toe."

Draco raised his eyebrows in shock, completely bypassing Harry's compliment for an uncharacteristic Hermione behavior. "You stomped on the Dark Lord's toe?" he asked incredulously, finding it hard to picture his former master getting his toe injured by some slip of a girl.

Hermione looked through her eyelashes, abashed. "Come off it Draco," she muttered. "It's not like I killed him single handedly."

Draco rolled his eyes. "It wasn't a compliment, Hermione. You've made the Lord of all damned evil probably irrevocably hate you for the rest of his life."

At his unhelpful comment, Hermione looked at Draco with her rare stare-of-death (as Ron called it), but it only helped in making her former enemy erupt with laughter. "I mean – _haha_ – no wonder – _gasp_ – he turned so evil. You – _snort_ – hurt his – _gasp_ – bloody toe so much – _haha_ – that he decided – _snort_ – to take over the world!"

Harry and Ron, rather against their will, burst out laughing at his joke, making Draco look rather pleased with himself. This annoyed an already irate Hermione, and she had to remind herself that despite the adventures and the magic and the whole saving the world bit, they were just boys with warped senses of humor.

Ron, who could see Hermione's blood boiling (because he usually got the brunt of her temper), put an arm around her. "Cheer up Hermione. It's the first day of class."

Hermione's head shot up. "The first day of class!" The Gryffindor retrieved her timetable from her bag and gasped. "Oh we're late." She then ran quickly out of the door, not caring whether the boys followed.

Hermione Granger is _never_ late to her first class.

………………………………..

**Potions Class 9:00 AM**

The trio made it just in time, but the academic gods still frowned on Hermione and demonstrated their point by locating the only available seat right next to Tom Riddle. He sat at the very top right corner of the class, a position that allowed him ample time to curse Hermione before the Professor noticed.

_I knew this whole messing with time business would backfire. Now look. I'm sitting next to the most dangerous teenage boy alive who has it out for me, because I thwarted his plans of creating another Horcrux,_ Hermione thought dejectedly.

On the other hand, Hermione's Gryffindor courage kicked in, and she decided she would not let Tom Riddle scare her, so she sat up straight with her head high and her hands on her desk; yet, subconsciously, she scooted her chair to the farthest left side of her desk, wanting to avoid making contact with him. She then glared at her two Gryffindor counterparts, who looked back at her sheepishly with apologetic expressions.

_Thanks for leaving me guys._

Hermione looked to her right, and noticed, with some satisfaction, that despite appearing like he wasn't paying her any attention, his chair was stationed so far to the extreme right of the table that the brunette knew he too was trying to keep his distance from her. He was probably thinking about different ways to kill her without anyone finding out, so Hermione let her wand hand slip from her desk to grasp her wand, waiting for a possible attack.

As Hermione's mind began to go into overdrive at her morbid thoughts, the monster in question caught her staring at him and smiled back at her – causing Hermione to get the full brunt of his change in character from the previous night.

The brunette frowned and turned to pay attention to the lesson.

"Now, this is a complex potion," a relatively young, though still rather large, Professor Slughorn declared with bright eyes and a coy smile, silently challenging his N.E.W.T level students to prove him wrong. "All healing potions are difficult – as you know – but this one has certain properties that require complete precision." He then turned his back on the class and wrote the risks on the board.

Hermione took this time to observe the bane of her existence again. Now that she had a closer view of him, she could see why the Horcrux in his diary had ensnared Ginny Weasley. The Heir of Slytherin was undeniably handsome, with thick, wavy locks of dark brown hair, a sculpted, sophisticated face, and an air of confidence about him that informed others that he was a force to be reckoned with. Nonetheless, Hermione could see beneath his exterior and could feel, to the very marrow of her bones, that he was hollow. He offered perfection on the outside, but his interior only provided cold and emptiness.

The object of Hermione's observations caught her staring again and raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, a quiet question in his eyes. Hermione arched an eyebrow in response, trying in vain to catch a hint of the intimidating boy she met last night.

As he looked away with a bored expression, Hermione reflected that her knowledge of him was extensive, yet, at the same time, she knew nothing about him. She could sense his emptiness, yet she couldn't understand his mood swings. She, based on Harry's descriptions and her instincts, knew when he was angry, yet she couldn't contemplate his other emotions.

Before she could stare at him again, Professor Slughorn's voice interrupted her thoughts. "You have the rest of the class period to work on this," he instructed. "Do be careful, and warn us, loud and clear, if the potion turns electric blue."

After his instructions, Hermione took the opportunity to escape the younger Voldemort by obtaining ingredients from the storage cabinet. Usually, Hermione summoned them, but Riddle's quick change of attitude unnerved her.

When she returned, he had already started boiling the water. The brunette placed the vials of ingredients on the table, and Riddle immediately summoned them to his side, leaving her side completely bare.

'_Fine', _Hermione rationalized, trying to calm herself from his surprisingly rude and confusing gesture. '_At least he's showing a small sign of dislike towards me. I'll just let him do the first step or two. I've already done this anyway, so I shouldn't have a problem with it."_

And so, she waited patiently, hoping that his manic, controlling side would demand her to do something. She observed him go through step one, two, and three. By step four, she knew being persistently quiet wouldn't crack the future Dark Lord. It annoyed her to be ignored like this, because the fact that he felt the need to do everything himself showed that he had already judged her to be incapable. She had been judged that way most of her life, but it still rankled her when people automatically jumped to that conclusion.

Instead of voicing her annoyance, she took a deep breath, forced her face into a semi-pleasant expression, and asked politely, "Do you need help?"

He slowly looked up at her – though his hands were still working on the potion – with what Hermione was sure he deemed a dazzling smile. "No thank you," he replied politely before turning his attention back to their potion.

The bushy-haired girl frowned, knowing that she was receiving what she considered 'public-image-Voldemort', and dared to scoot closer to him. She presented him a smile that she hoped was just as dazzling. "But I want to do something," she implored as earnestly as she could, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice.

This time, Tom Riddle acknowledged her with a sly smirk on his face and a cold gleam in his eyes. Hermione recognized this as the nicer version of the smile future Voldemort bestowed on his victims before pouncing on them, and she assumed that he used that smile for the same reason in this decade.

"If you want to help," he drawled, his resonant baritone voice lacing around every syllable, turning up his charm, "then you might want to give me that book you borrowed from me last night."

Hermione's frown deepened and she narrowed her eyes. _Oh no you don't. Even though I don't know how to play your games, I won't be had by them._

"Can't you just wait until I return it?" she asked, feigning innocence.

"Well, I would, except you didn't check it out. I, however, as Head Boy, didn't think it an important enough matter to mention it to the administration," he said in a manner that told Hermione that he expected her to appreciate his 'sacrifice'.

Hermione warning flags flared at his words. She knew she was being manipulated, and she knew he wanted the book. She also berated herself for not knowing him the way Harry did. If she understood him in that way, she would know how to act in this situation.

_Alright, Hermione. He hasn't legitimately provoked you today. Just act natural. _

"Actually," she said, trying to use a tone that she uses with Harry and Ron, "I really want to read this one. I've read a great deal of books, and after a while, it's rare to find a subject that truly fascinates you."

At her words, Riddle's face fell into an passive expression, making him dangerous, because now, Hermione had no way of recognizing signs of anger from his stone face. He could strike at any minute, and she would know a few seconds too late.

The brunette was then taken by surprise again, because the Heir of Slytherin, after completely shutting down what little emotional intelligence he has, moved his chair closer to her. His face didn't change, but his voice lowered to a raw sounding pitch and he quietly said, "I need that book. I can't explain how much, but I need it, and if you were charitable, you would give it to me without wasting time arguing."

_Now you're trying to play the vulnerable card? _Hermione exclaimed in her head, confused again by his actions. As she scanned her brain for what to say next, she was glad to come across a warning Ginny had given her about Tom Riddle's vulnerable side – how the Riddle in the diary seemed like he gave a little piece of himself to her when, really, he hadn't given anything at all.

Hermione was determined to not become a victim of his manipulations.

Instead, she bequeathed him with an even stare and a brittle smile. "I'm not a very charitable person."

"Then why did they put you in Gryffindor?" he quipped, his voice still controlled, yet Hermione could tell that he was losing his patience based on the rudeness of his question.

"Well, if you really want to know," Hermione replied in her most cheerful yet matter-of-fact voice "go ask the sorting hat. I'm sure it'll give you all the answers you desire."

A sardonic smile played at his lips, and Hermione couldn't tell whether he thought her comment was amusing or whether he had lost his patience with her.

_Why, in Merlin's name, did I not anticipate his behavior? It must be the book. It must be Horcruxes. By why does he need it when he has already torn his soul, _Hermione mused, making a mental note to put the book in the black box she received from Snape.

"Good advice. I'll make sure to follow it after you give me _my_ book," he retorted sarcastically, making sure to emphasize his ownership.

_So I was right._

Hermione's face hardened, preparing for a verbal fight. "Why don't you tell me why you want it first," she demanded firmly, forcing his hand.

"I don't think that's any of your business," he replied curtly, his words becoming clipped

"I have the object, therefore it is," she replied just as curtly, getting bolder in spite of herself. "Tell me why you need it so much."

"Do not order me to do anything," he said in a dangerously calm voice, making an involuntary chill run down Hermione's back. "Technically, you _stole_ a book from the library in the presence of the Head Boy, so I can retract my favor at any time and report you."

_Oh Riddle, in my experience as Head Girl, I've found that no one, absolutely no one, listens to the Head (fill in gender here) threat, _Hermione thought, laughing inwardly at his leadership faux-pas.

"Oh, you're going to give me detention," Hermione taunted, pushing her luck further. "Let's stop this argument so I can go cry."

"I'm not trying to make you cry," he said kindly, his previous frustration completely evaporated from his voice.

Hermione endeavored not to look flustered at his attempt at changing his character again. She didn't know what he was playing at, but she knew that right now, when he was using a decent tone of voice, would be a good time to stop their conversation.

Her eyes turned back to their potion, and what she saw made her jaw drop.

Apparently, Hermione had somehow affected the future Dark Lord more than she thought, because he was uncharacteristically shaking a vial of black beetle powder uncontrollably into their cauldron.

The brunette watched with horror, feeling like she was experiencing déjà vu, except this time, instead of Neville Longbottom, she witnessed the future Dark Lord overdose an ingredient on a potion. If she didn't act fast, the potion would turn electric blue, it would start to boil violently, and it would explode and eat through the skin of whoever it touches.

The most brilliant witch of the age quickly drew her wand, her fight-or-flight instincts activated, and summoned crushed rose petals and snake venom from the storage cabinet. The noise it created averted the attention of everyone in the room, who watched in amazement as they realized that Tom Riddle, Hogwart's most brightest, had caused the accident.

When the ingredients reached her, Hermione dumped the whole vial of rose petals and a drop of snake venom into the volatile potion. After a few, drawn out seconds, the potion returned too a dark midnight blue, and Hermione released a breath she didn't know she held. She looked around, praying that she was just imagining twenty pairs of eyes staring at her, but instead, the owners of those eyes exuberantly applauded her.

Slughorn, also having noticed Hermione's save, rushed over to her with a bright smile. "You were magnificent, girl!" he exclaimed, patting her on the back. "What is your name?"

"Hermione Granger," the brunette replied weakly, not comfortable at all with the attention she was receiving, knowing that if Snape were here, he would brutally chastise her for further ruining their plans.

"Miss Granger," Slughorn repeated, his smile suddenly turning greedy. "That was a brilliant move. Usually it takes twenty minutes to calm after a mistake has been made."

"I used a drop of snake venom," Hermione replied nervously, shifting uncomfortably in her seat under her Professor's approving gaze while her instinct to blabber during an awkward situation rose in her throat. "When you add rose petals – a light ingredient used for soothing and love potions – and counteract it with a drop of poison, then the two ingredients work in harmony with the others. However, the snake venom isn't fully neutralized by the rose petals and retains its acidic quality, eating away at the excess ingredients."

Slughorn's eyes brightened as the corners of his lips twitched, soaking in Hermione's information. "How brilliant!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air in joy. "How completely and utterly brilliant." He then leaned so close to Hermione that she could smell the sweat and tobacco from his clothes. "Miss Granger, I don't usually do this," he whispered conspicuously, "but, I'm having a party in two weeks for a select few, and you are more than welcome to come."

Hermione wasn't stupid, and she knew that her being more than welcome meant that she had to or else. She participated in Slughorn's club during her sixth year, and she knew that he was obsessed with collecting talent. So much so that he tactfully asked her in front of the class, forcing the Gryffindor to accept reluctantly.

Slughorn's greasy look turned into one of delight, and with a nod, he headed back to his desk and dismissed the class.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione watched Riddle as he gathered his materials. He appeared calm and in control, but knowing his future self's obsession with perfection, he must was undoubtedly furious.

The bushy-haired girl could see that she was accidentally accomplishing the mission her and the boys had set that morning. For some reason, she had managed to ruffle his feathers, which meant that if she continued to do so, he would lash out eventually, and hopefully in public so everyone could see.

But if he loathed her so much already, would he try to take revenge?

The brunette packed her bag slowly, giving the Heir of Slytherin plenty of time to exit the room and be well down the hallway by the time she was done. In the fourteen hours since she had met Tom Riddle, she was already turning his world upside down. Was he already planning for her to be the victim of a freak accident? Or was he just going to kill her and frame someone else?

She flung her bag over her shoulder and slowly made her way towards the door, thinking morose thoughts and ignoring Harry and Ron's high fives.

"Hermione," Harry said cheerfully, not understanding her mood, "You took the first step in the mission. You bested Hogwart's perfect Head Boy! And even better, it was in public, so curious students must be hounding him."

"Congratulations to me," Hermione replied sarcastically. "If you keep going on with your compliments, that snake might bury me sooner."

"Bury you?" Ron asked, confused. "Why would he do that? It's not like you did anything outrageous like appoint muggles the rulers of the earth or punch him in the face. We all know how Slytherins take that one, especially the ferret."

"I don't know Ron," Hermione said, her sarcasm growing by the second. "Why would a nice, sweet boy like that _kill_ anyone?"

"Hermione," Harry admonished patiently. "He's not going to kill you. Remember, I know him better than anyone, and trust me, if he wanted to kill you, I would be hearing that damned basilisk in the vents again."

"Yeah, well, he didn't loathe someone as much as he loathes me in such a short amount of time. I might as well have called him out on keeping that pet basilisk while I was besting him in potions," Hermione grumbled.

It didn't help that Ron grinned at her last statement.

Harry rolled his eyes and put a friendly arm around her as they walked up the steps to the main floor. "Hermione, what you did was amazing. You have nothing to feel bad about."

"Plus," Ron added. "If he was going to go after you, he'll need a couple of hours to plan it out."

Hermione punched Ron in the arm for his bad humor, obtaining a cry of outrage from him and a poorly concealed snigger from Harry.

………………………………………….

**8:00 PM after dinner, same classroom as the morning**

The trio was back in the classroom they had visited that morning. They kept it dark in the room, letting the silvery glow of moonlight be the only provider of light and their shadow dance hauntingly on the walls. The atmosphere gave them peace, a quiet place in the world to sit and think…until a certain blonde made his appearance.

"You know," Draco said, slamming the door before angrily reapplying the simple charms Hermione had previously placed on it. "You'd think that Riddle would need more time to mature into full on bastard-ness, but no, 1944 Voldemort is still a bastard. He's just not shooting Cruciatus curses out of his arse," Draco ranted, pointing an irritated finger at them, "but otherwise, that is the only difference."

Hermione sighed as the Slytherin stiffly walked towards the dusty teacher's desk and perched delicately on it. "Did you just call us in here so you could complain? I thought you were only supposed to contact us when you had major news until we find a permanent meeting place, so we don't appear – oh, what was that word you used – _bizarre_."

"I do have important news," Draco replied matter-of-factly as he glared at her. He then took a deep breath, a look of feigned regret on his face. "I can't do the mission."

"Why not?" the trio asked simultaneously.

Draco furrowed his brow. "The whole say-phrases-at-the-same-time thing you three do is down right creepy."

"Just get on with it," Harry pushed.

"Oh alright," Draco said, now fully sitting on the desk. "Well, it's not really a long story. I walked into the common room, looked around, and noticed that his entourage wasn't surrounding him; so, I figured that time was as good a time as any." His tone turned flippant, and he examined his nails as he went on. "I introduced myself, and he glared at me, but I was not about to pee my pants over some psychotic --."

"Draco, get on with it," Ron interrupted, eager to here what happened.

"Right," Draco said, still admiring his nails. "So, I asked what was wrong with him, and he said – the nerve of him – that I shouldn't even try because me and my little friends aren't good enough for him. Oh Granger, you should have seen the control it took me to not spill that we are definitely not friends. I mean, that just proves how mentally unstable he is – him and his delusional ideas on relationships!" exclaimed the Slytherin.

Hermione decided to take one for the team and ignore Draco's last comment. Instead, she stared at him wide-eyed, still hoping that they had a chance. "So, just like that, he just dismissed you?"

"No," Draco shook his head. "It was more along the lines of –" he cleared his throat, his back ramrod straight, and changed his manner to resemble that of Riddle's –" I'm glad you four have come to Hogwarts, but let me be clear when I say… be careful who your enemies are."

_Oh, there he goes again with his concealed threats_, Hermione thought as she moaned and put her face in her hands as Harry consolingly patted her on the back.

Draco gave her a curious look. "What's wrong with you?" he asked, amused by her over reaction.

Ron shrugged. "She thinks it's her fault that you weren't able to befriend Voldemort," he answered.

His forehead crinkled as he considered his explanation and turned to the distraught bushy-haired girl in Harry's arms. "Well, honestly Hermione, it is kind of your fault. I doubt that his wand would be in this big of a knot if you had not taken his book and made him look like a complete idiot in Potions."

Hermione looked up briefly to glare at him while Harry made big, redundant no-no signals with his hands.

Draco, watching the brief interlude, snickered. "He's not going to kill you Granger," he assured, smirking confidently at her. "He just wants your book –" Draco explained; then he suddenly gasped and lifted an accusing finger – "that you haven't checked out, by the way."

Hermione lifted her head from her hands again and raised her chin as arrogantly as she could. "If that bastard wants the book so bad, then he won't have it; and, not checking out just assures that I won't be caught with it."

"Be that as it may," drawled Draco, raising an eyebrow, "don't you think that he'll inform the librarian about what you've done? He's Head Boy after all. He's got authority and influence."

"On the contrary Draco, I don't believe he will tell," Harry said confidently. "The librarian checks inventory everyday, and by the sounds of it, Voldemort wants that book immediately. If Hermione is forced to return it and it goes missing again, then it would raise suspicions."

"Yes, Potter, good point," Draco seceded, even though his tone became more argumentative. "But then how would the librarian know it was him?"

"Trust me on this one Draco," Harry said cockily, now trying to one up him. Hermione rolled her eyes as Harry continued. "He's done too many things at Hogwarts to raise anymore suspicion. Despite his "perfect" appearance, I know that he's been caught doing a lot of questionable acts since his fifth year. And now, he's trying to make Horcruxes, so he can't simply check the book out; he has to steal it. But, if he does, Hermione will know it was him, because he allowed her to see how much he wanted it."

Draco made an unbecoming gesture with his hand before turning back to a now scowling Hermione. He cleared his throat. "So, right, well then, keep the book," he said, his flippant manner returned as he addressed the group as a whole. "So, with that done, how are we going to kill him?"

"Well, now that Hermione's gone and ruined it --."

"Shut up Ron," Harry said sharply.

Ron sighed. "Sorry Harry."

As much as Hermione appreciated Harry for trying to sugarcoat the situation for her, she knew she had to accept Ron's honesty. She found it a tiny condolence that she didn't bring about this situation on purpose, because fate had decided that her punishment for meddling with time was to make enemies with the most powerful boy in school.

Before they slipped into an awkward silence, she spoke up. "I've been thinking about this. His façade slipped a little today, because of me. Now, since he'll most likely be more cautious of me, we have to come up with other ways to irk him aside from my natural ability."

"That's great Hermione," Ron complimented. "I vote that you have to purposefully outsmart him to ruin his Golden Boy reputation." He grabbed her by the shoulders while his face slipped into an exaggerated pleading expression. "You're the only one who can do it. The rest of us can't threaten him like that"

"Hey," Draco cried, offended.

Ron ignored him and smiled at Hermione, his eyes creating a contrast as they held a ferocity and sadness that she had not fully seen until now. That moment made her realize exactly what losing his family had done to him, no matter how much courage he had and how much he was trying to hide it.

"First," he murmured, his voice suddenly low and intense, despite his misleading smile, "you ruin him, you make him show his real colors. Then, we take our revenge, no matter the cost and no one will care."

"We still need to be careful, Ron," Hermione warned, thinking about the confusion Tom Riddle had caused her with his mood swings. "As I discovered today, we don't know who he is in this decade. We need to be able to read him like a book."

"Oh don't worry about that, Hermione," Ron said with a wave of his hand.

"Do you actually have a plan Ronald Weasley?" Hermione asked, impressed.

He cocked his head. "You'll see."

* * *

**Author's note**: So, **thank you** for making it to the bottom and reading my story. I'm truly grateful that you took the time out of your day to read it. I would ask that, if you have the time, please leave any _**constructive**_ **criticism on your reviews, **because it would greatly help my writing. Also, shout outs and compliments are welcomed as well, but I primarily **want your thoughts** on how to make the **story better**. Thank you, again.

**Flirtytype**


	4. Page 432

**Disclaimer: ** I don't own anything. It's all JK Rowling's.

**Author's Note: **So, I've been super busy with my life. I honestly haven't had time for the fanfiction world; but, I've recently gotten back in, and I remembered how much I wanted to write this story. So, I won't be able to update too often, but I'll try, because I really want to write this.

**Beta Readers: **I'm also looking for a beta reader, so if you are interested, please let me know.

……………………………………………….

**September 19****th****, 1944, Day of Slughorn's Party, Saturday, Morning, Room of Requirement**

Hermione sat in the Room of Requirement, anxiously awaiting Harry, Ron, and Draco.

Her anxiousness had caused her to hastily inform the boys that she discovered some vital information, crucial enough to need the Room of Requirements. The boys, upon Hermione's request, knew it was serious, because they had agreed not to use that room unless the information was of the utmost importance. '_Can't have that bloody lunatic knowing all of our secrets'_ as Ron had so delicately put it.

They needed a meeting anyway; It had been roughly two weeks since the time traveler's arrival in the 1940s, and they had no concrete plan. This made Hermione uneasy. She knew, from her time turner her third year, that time traveling was extremely volatile. One miniscule word or one insignificant movement can majorly impact events in the future. For all Hermione knew, just her going back in time could have saved the future. Then again, her being in 1944 could have allowed Voldemort to take over the world sooner. These uncertainties constantly reminded Hermione of her mission: the only way to insure peace in the future is to kill Tom Riddle.

Therefore, Hermione had called an emergency meeting for two reasons. 1) The group needed to act. They had no idea how long they had to do so. And 2) They had several mysteries to solve.

Being the practical one in the group, she asked the Room of Requirement to conjure simple furnishings: a large wooden table with matching chairs, some lighting, and a small fireplace. She thought it was the perfect setting for planning 1940s Voldemort's demise.

Looking into her schoolbag, she pulled _Soul Magic: Dark and Dangerous_ and placed it in front of her.

Ever the bookworm, Hermione had read the book – or what she now refers to as the 'the object that's going to be the death of me' – five times in the past two weeks, taking notes, making inferences, and trying to analyze exactly what Riddle wanted from the book. Her search, despite her effort, had proven almost fruitless, and to her horror, she had designated this book as the most loathsome object on the planet. She absolutely hated every word that was in it, which, to Hermione, was a highly rare occurrence. In fact, it was borderline academic blasphemy.

But, she had every reason to despise the book because 1) Tom Riddle seemed to really want it and 2) because it had absolutely nothing that directly correlated to Horcruxes. This made Hermione's first reason for not liking the book not match up with her second reason, which meant that they were missing an enormous part of the mystery.

It also showed that she had made a huge mistake. Hermione, and the rest of the group for that matter, had made too many assumptions about Tom Riddle, and it had cost them time.

However, despite the book's failure, she _did_ find one vital piece of information, and it had unintentionally altered her _entire_ perspective on the Tom Riddle situation.

Hermione knew she was being uncharacteristically illogical. She was allowing one paragraph on page 432 out of an 800 page book to change everything for the Time Travelers.

So, she absolutely needed to discuss _Soul Magic: Dark and Dangerous _with Harry, Ron, and Draco.

She was nervous as she waited for the boys, because she knew it would take some convincing. Hermione understood she was taking a risk to base their plans on one paragraph. Like her third year, a different set of events can alter the future forever. Asking the boys to even think differently about Voldemort and his Horcruxes, to even suggest an alternative and seriously pursue it, could ruin everything.

However, Hermione, against her logic and her better judgment, felt that page 432 was the key to everything. She felt it in her gut; and despite her reputation for her brain, her gut – and Harry and Ron's for that matter – was always what had saved her in the past. And for some reason, this book, this _useless_ book, had managed to convince her that she needed to stop using her brain.

But she was willing to take the risk. The possibility of finally progressing in their mission exited her, because unbeknownst to the boys, she had been secretly starting to worry. Hermione was not used to lying dormant for very long, and the lack of action had rendered her mind restless.

She was putting herself out on a limb, basing a course of action on her logic's ability to fill in the holes rather than actual fact. In fact, it was very out of character for someone who preferred intricate, well-prepared, and quiet maneuvering; but the way she saw it, they had very little options and an undeterminable amount of time. No one knew how long they would be there, or even if they could get back to their time, so they had to act fast and without regret.

_Hopefully Slughorn's party can provide some interesting developments_.

Hermione was pulled out of her reverie as the boys arrived promptly.

Upon entering the room, Draco, predictably, was the first to comment on her choice in furniture. "You know, Granger, you could have provided some more furnishing to compensate for waking me up this early on a bloody Saturday."

Hermione shot him a mildly irritated, albeit good-natured, look as she motioned for the boys to sit. Merlin help her, his sarcasm was starting to grow on her.

"Sorry I didn't cater to your comfort Draco," she drawled, "but it'll be the least of your worries once we discuss what I've found."

"Did you finally figure out how to kill the git?" Ron asked, clumsily plopping down in the chair to the left of Hermione, looking ruffled and grumpy. From the amount of crumbs on his face, Hermione guessed that he had thought it more important to sneak a breakfast muffin into his stomach than groom himself before the meeting.

"No," Hermione sighed as she steeled herself for their discussion.

As she stared at them, her mind quickly tried to form a plausible argument. The book she had kept under lock and key the past few days could have possibly proven everything they knew about Tom Riddle's soul utterly and completely wrong. But, despite that setback, they could use the information in the book to form a plan. However, Hermione knew very well that she had to convince her three war-jaded boys that the information she found is enough of a cause to risk everything.

Harry, taking her silence as a bad sign muttered, "This can't be good."

Ron, thinking along the same lines as Harry, had an ironic expression cross his face. "What? Does he have a muggle slave trade in the dungeons? Is he planning to blow up our common room? Did he --."

"Stop it, Ronald," Hermione interrupted in a forceful voice crossing her arms in slight indignation. "It's nothing like that at all." She then shifted nervously in her chair – realizing the shock that would accompany her next words — and covered her face with her hands. _C'mon Hermione, you've done it before – albeit rarely – but take a deep breath and_….

"I made a mistake."

As Hermione looked up from her hand, she found Ron staring at her incredulously, eyes wide and mouth agape at her confession. Harry, who was sitting across from her, ran a hand through his hair in agitation, knowing, from past experiences, that admissions of that nature from Hermione generally equaled enormous consequences.

Draco had the same expression as Ron did, but he quickly snapped out of it to stare at her accusingly. "Dammit Granger, I thought you never made those."

Hermione, subconsciously deciding to take one for the team and let that comment go, cleared her throat, stood up, and started pacing. As she listened to the metronomic beating of her footsteps, her mind sorted through the filing cabinets in search of the folder she'd labeled 'Psycho-Dark-Lord-With-A-Creepy-Obsession-With-Immortality'. When her brain located the file, she quickly went through all the information stored in it before facing the boys again, placing both her hands on her table and leaning in towards them conspiratorially.

She nodded towards the book, feeling more confident about her argument. "That book," she spat, not hiding her disdain at its failure, "has nothing, _absolutely nothing_, to do with Horcruxes."

She smirked inwardly, in spite of the seriousness of the situation, at the increased incredulousness of the boys' expression as she slowly sat back down. Draco leaned back in his chair with his head up towards the ceiling, a look of deep thought on his features. Ron just looked confused, but upon closer inspection, she could tell that his mind was trying to find a logical explanation for this strange occurrence.

Harry was staring intensely at her with a question on his lips. "Well, then what the hell did Riddle want with it?"

Hermione decided to reply honestly. "I don't know," she shrugged as she started flipping through the pages, trying to find a specific one. "The whole book was quite vague, but then again, I don't imagine that Hogwarts, even in the Restricted section, would have a piece of literature with specific instructions on _his_ kind of soul magic." She stopped flipping once she found the page she had bookmarked, and the boys leaned in as she pointed to a specific paragraph. "This is the only section where I found something that would remotely tickle the fancy of the future Dark Lord. All of the other sections, though eluding to dark magic, were only a generalized summary of wizards that have taken and mended other's souls, wizards that had binded two souls together, etc. "

Draco, swiping the book from the others, held it in his hands and read the section aloud. "_A famous Hogwarts founder was highly interested in this type of soul magic. Salazar Slytherin, King of Serpents, had done experiments with spells of this nature, where he would try to split the soul and combine it once again. The repaired soul would be the same as it was before it was shattered, but different all at once_."

The Slytherin, after reading the small passage, looked up, unimpressed with her work.

"Granger, I've read this book before, and this passage is obviously making a vague reference to Slytherin playing around with Horcruxes. We shouldn't even be basing our decisions on such a small passage from an inconsequential book," he drawled, sliding the book across the table so that Harry and Ron could read.

"Draco, call me by my first name and you're not paying attention to the whole passage," Hermione pointed out, placing her finger under to line to emphasize her point. "It said that Slytherin tried to split his soul, but then put it back together."

"Yeah, but it still doesn't explain why that horrible excuse for a wizard wants this book so badly," Draco argued. "For all we know, he's just obsessed with collecting everything that contains the word Slytherin."

"For once I agree with Mal-Draco. It's impossible, Hermione" Harry interrupted, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. "By now, that monster has already made two Horcruxes. Why would he want to repair his soul when he's already accomplished his goal? All he has left to do now is achieve world domination and mutate into a disgusting snake-like creature."

"Yeah, I wished someone had warned him against that," Ron muttered, shivering at his mental images of Voldemort's future face.

Harry, ignoring Ron's comment, looked seriously into Hermione's eyes. "I'm sure you know that interfering with Tom Riddle's soul can severely impact the future for good or bad. We'll probably never know which one it is. Suggesting that, instead of continuing to create Horcruxes, he wants to mend his soul is one thing, but interfering in those events is another. You must have thought this through, Hermione, to be so adamant, but I'm not convinced. Why should we even take this new found knowledge seriously?"

Hermione, anticipating this question, replied the best she could. "When I said I made a mistake," she said slowly, testing the words on her tongue, "I meant that we all did." The boys' interests were thoroughly engaged at her declaration, and they leaned in as she continued. "We assumed that we already knew him, that we knew every single thought and event that happened in his life. But, in retrospect, those events are key points that Dumbledore collected to help us succeed in the future. We are in the past now. There are things, darker things, that no one has been able to see Voldemort do; and Tom Riddle wanting to put his soul together is one of those things. The only part we need to figure out is why."

"Maybe you missed something," Ron said, his logical side voicing his doubt over Hermione's faith in three vague sentences from a book on the Dark Arts.

"Maybe, but not in the way you're thinking, Ron," Hermione replied. "I could not fully understand his purpose. He could be looking at other types of soul magic aside from Horcruxes. The theory that I think is most likely is that putting his soul back together, after it has been torn apart, will make him a true immortal. Knowing what we know about his fear of death, reconstructing his soul will keep others from trying to destroy his Horcruxes. And, if the soul is different after it is reconstructed, then it must mean that it will be forever immortal."

"As much as I hate to admit it, she's right in that aspect," Draco confirmed. As Hermione looked at him, she could see that his mind was calculating the situation in a way that was uniquely Slytherin, and she became slightly more grateful that they had someone who could think like the Dark Lord on their side.

Draco returned her look with a raise of his eyebrow and turned to look at Ron. "I've read this book before. If you so much as look at the table of contents, you'll figure that every other type of soul magic mentioned doesn't match any of Voldemort's interests. And judging by Hermione's description of her encounter with him, that bastard is most definitely interested. He could have more than one motive."

Harry sat up a bit straighter at Draco's comment, his mind reeling from the new information as he stared at Hermione with a new level of intensity. "So, what I'm assuming you're getting at, Hermione, is that as of right now, Voldemort is interested in not only breaking his soul apart, but repairing it, like the passage points out?"

Hermione didn't reply at first. Her brain had been on nonstop thinking mode for the past two weeks, making mental notes and solving logical puzzles about the mystery that is Lord Voldemort. The boys waited patiently as she quickly sifted through all her mental file cabinets, looking for 'Psycho-Dark-Lord-With-A-Creepy-Obsession-With-Immortality's' sister folder: 'Evil Bastard: the 1940s version'. While her mind was busy, Hermione pulled out a sheet of parchment from her bag with an abundant amounts of notes scrawled in her small, elegant script. She spread it out on the table hoping that it'll help her in explaining her train of thought.

"Here's what I've come up with," she started in her matter-of-fact voice. "In regards to the Horcuxes, I've split up my notes into what we know, what we can assume, and what we don't know."

"Wait, _assume_," Draco interrupted with a skeptical tone while crossing his arms over his chest. "You're smart, Granger, I'll give you that, but what makes you think we have the time or the knowledge to be making more assumptions then we've already made. I mean, look at what happened the last time the wizarding world made too many assumptions about Tom Riddle."

Hermione, feeling irritation surface at Draco's pessimism, took a deep breath, therapeutically slow breath, and resumed her analysis. "Just here me out," she said, glaring mildly at the blonde for good measure. "Think about it. What we know is that Voldemort has already created two Horcruxes – from his father and Myrtle – and we know that he's looking to create more. This means that he is now starting his attempts at world domination, which is bad, but it also means that his weakness is still the same."

"His fear of dying," Harry murmured, his eyes lightning in excitement, confident that Hermione was on to something.

"Right, so that give us an angle to exploit," Draco added, ever the Slytherin.

"Correct and correct," Hermione smiled, half expecting Draco to rub his hands together and cackle after his last comment.

"But he still has Horcruxes left in the world," Harry continued.

"Right," Hermione replied. "But, if my theory proves true, we can assume that he's keeping his Horcruxes close."

"And he really wants the book right? There's no way that he faked it?" Ron asked, trying to connect the dots.

"Correct again!" Hermione exclaimed, her words becoming breathless with the excitement created from their brain working together. _I know we're on to something now_, Hermione thought with satisfaction. "We know that Riddle truly wants this book. He had never seen me before he saw me with_ Soul Magic_, which means that his reaction must be as close to genuine as anything else we can get from him. Now, this is when we have to start assuming."

"So, if I'm following you Hermione, these assumptions will serve to fill in the gaps," Harry clarified, sounding as excited as she felt.

"Yes, Harry," Hermione said enthusiastically before her voice dropped, a tone of warning laced through it. "But keep in mind that since we're basing everything off of assumptions, we need to tread carefully. Though this book provides us with a good start, it could give us, and the future, major problems if we put too much weight on it. We also have to keep in mind that, since this book seems really important to Voldemort, that we could be missing his true purpose. He could want this book for some other type of soul magic as well."

"But we are putting some weight on it because…" Ron asked.

"Because, Ron, we need to dive in. Otherwise, we'll never have the opportunity to get our feet wet," Hermione replied quickly before continuing with her original train of thought. "Anyway, from what I've deduced, Voldemort wants to tear his soul apart, but his goal, we're going to assume, based on this passage and his desire for the book, is to put it back together. However, future psycho wizard wants to keep his soul torn into Horcruxes. Therefore, through logic, we can assume that there are events that happened between now and the future that caused him to change his mind."

"Which, if I know you well enough, leads us into the portion of your ridiculous amount of notes that contains the stuff we don't know," Ron said matter-of-factly, more interested now that he can follow her train of thought.

"Yes, and its facts that we need to know before we can plan a course of action. Aside from this main mission, we don't know what Snape is up to, and I still need to figure out those purple memories. We also need an easier way to attain information on Riddle." Hermione then turned to Draco with a look of sincerity that hopefully pierced through his Malfoy aloofness. "Draco, we need you to get in with him."

"We've been through this, Gra- Hermione," Draco tsked, not at all thrilled with her request. "I've already alienated myself."

"I have a plan for that," Hermione said, knowing that a short appeal to Draco's ego would do the trick. "Besides, Draco, as much as I hate to say this, we can't ruin that bastards plan without your help."

Malfoy gave her a cocky grin, and she grinned inwardly at her tactfulness. "Of course you can't"

Hermione rolled her eyes in good humor before becoming serious again. "We need to know his plans. He should already have a merry band of Death Eaters by now. We need to know who they are and where they're meeting. Once that happens, we need to get close enough to him to where we can make more accurate guesses."

"I'm sorry Hermione, but how in your right mind did you think we can achieve that? Voldemort's already decided that Draco is just the dirty, slimy, filthy --."

"Hey, Potter, you can shove those insults up your--."

"Slughorn's party is tonight," Hermione interrupted before the bickering began. "Since Draco has been invited as well, I'm sure that we can find a way."

"How the hell did he get invited?" asked Ron in slight disbelief.

"I'm a higher breed of wizard," Draco replied arrogantly, his nose in the air.

"Or he memorized Slughorn's schedule and purposefully did 'amazing feats of magic' in front of him every chance he got," Harry corrected, earning a dark glare from Draco.

"Well, however he did it, we need to get Riddle's attention tonight," Hermione said quickly. "And afterwards Ron, where ever I am – dormitory or Hospital wing – I want you to tell me about this plan you mentioned a couple of weeks ago –"

"How do you propose we do that? And why the hell would you be in the Hospital Wing?" asked Draco, intrigued but skeptical at her proposal.

Hermione, in all her years as a warrior for the Order of the Phoenix and the brain of the Golden Trio, had never thought the following words would leave her mouth.

"Oh, I don't know, Draco. I really didn't think that far ahead."

* * *

**Corridor, 15 min before Sulghorn's party**

Hermione and Draco had decided to meet before the Slug Club at Draco's request. Hermione thought it was a good idea, because they could discuss some last minute strategy.

Turns out she was wrong.

There they were –Hermione in a nice blouse, beige, knee-length skirt and pearls and Draco in khakis and a forest green sweater vest – arguing in a corridor just three minutes away from the party.

"Hermione, there is absolutely no way that we are going in without a plan. I have no idea what's going on. You have no idea what's going on. Going into this situation blind is like asking for Voldy to sick that beast on us. And don't look at me like that, Hermione. That monster would attack you first anyway," Draco complained, making a wild hand gestures at the parts in his rant he wanted to emphasize.

Hermione tried her very best not to wring his neck for all the stress he was causing her. "Keep your voice down or you might wake that snake of his," she warned.

Draco scowled at her, refusing to give up. "Snape said not to be bizarre, and your plan, or lack therof, by the very definition of it, is completely and utterly _bizzare_."

"Merlin, will you stop Draco," Hermione sighed, thoroughly annoyed and very close to just calling it a day. "We've just been waiting for an opportunity to get at him. Why not just create one?"

"We are not creating an opportunity. We are going into a situation where we could _die_!"

"Look, we're not going to get a start on our mission unless we start formulating a hypothesis --."

"You would use the word hypothesis –"

"Oh shut up. You're being so overdramatic, it's sickening."

"I'm overdramatic?"

"Yes, you are!"

"I'm not the one who is trying to find a way to show off my magical ability to some deranged teenaged maniac with a psychologically traumatic past!"

"Merlin, keep it down!"

"You're just as loud as I am, _Hermione_. And for your information, I thought of placing a couple of charms on this corridor so that our voices wouldn't carry. "

"Well thanks for not mentioning that piece of information, Draco. And for _your_ information, my plan, though flawed, is reasonable. If he's not speaking to you, the best way to thaw his attitude, if you will, is to make him want to collect you."

"So let me get this straight," Draco whispered vehemently, "I'm to be some sort of collectible item. I am a Malfoy. I am priceless."

"Yes, Draco, you must," Hermione replied in equally hushed tones, snorting mentally at his arrogance. "You know how he practically drools over power; and he loves collecting power as well. And," she added, pausing so that he'd understand the importance of her situation, "find a way to sever ties with me tonight. I'm not an ally in your particular mission. Oh, don't look at me like that, Draco. I know this wasn't something we talked about in the meeting, but I'm sure you can find it in yourself to be mean to me."

Draco raised his eyebrows at her comment. "I'm impressed Granger. Didn't know you had this manipulative, deceptive streak in you."

"There's a lot you don't know about me," Hermione replied cheekily, causing her Slytherin counterpart to look mildly surprised.

"And speaking of my magical prowess, I don't know what to do to impress that scum," he admitted. "And it's your fault. You're supposed to be the planner."

"Sometimes Draco, you just have to wait for the opportunity to strike," Hermione said wisely. "A lot of the times, on our adventures, Harry, Ron, and I would be in your predicament. Don't worry, there will be an opportunity. It's just your job not to let it pass you by." At that, she straightened her cloths and adjusted her hair. "Now, I'm going to go. Follow five minutes after me."

* * *

**Slughorn's Party**

Hermione tried to enter quietly, but, as luck would have it, Slughorn happened to be looking in the direction of the door at her arrival.

"Why, Miss Granger, so glad you could make it!" Slughorn boomed.

Hermione shook his hand while trying to appear confident. She hated being the center of attention; although, she doubted that she could avoid it, seeing as she was a new student and the latest addition to the Slug Club.

"Have you met everyone?" Slughorn asked, his familiar greedy expression surfacing at the prospect of introducing her to Hogwart's best and brightest.

"I'm afraid I haven't," Hermione confessed as she plastered her brightest smile on her face, intuitively knowing that 'the bastard' – as the boys had taken to calling him – was lurking there.

"Well, that simply can't do, Miss Granger," Slughorn tsked, lightly teasing her. "However, I'm sure a bright girl like you would have absolutely no trouble making friends."

She didn't have time to thank him, because they had already reached the group. Slughorn executed a dramatic mini-bow, acting as if his graciousness of introducing Hermione to these people was the key to her future success. "Now this one," he pointed, starting with the man farthest to the right, "is Winston Dooburgle. An excellent Quidditch player --."

Hermione, at the mention of Quidditch, tuned Slughorn out and discreetly surveyed the rest of the crowd. She knew most the students already, but she figured that letting the prideful professor reintroduce them was in her best interest. After all, she had to observe the room, and she had to keep her eyes and ears open for her and Draco's opportunity..

The Gryffindor Lioness let her senses assess the room, her brain cataloging information with quick accuracy. Since this wasn't a dinner party, the middle of the room was completely bare, save for a decorative carpet. There was a table of snacks and drinks to the far right corner, and there was a charmed saxophone playing background music on the opposite side. And, in a dark corner, to the right of the sax, lurked Tom Riddle, a group of girls, and the unmistakable flash of Malfoy Blonde.

_Abraxas Malfoy,_ Hermione thought, openly glaring at them. _Those Slytherins would lure unsuspecting girls into the corner of a party. It's not as if Lord Voldemort is the woo-with-flowers-and-a-picnic type._

To her complete and utter surprise, said evil wizard caught her staring at him. Tried as she might, Hermione's treacherous cheeks burned red with embarrassment, because she sure as hell hadn't been looking at him the way she should have been. Instead of bestowing him with an indifferent look or even a smile, she had thrown him a most vile glare; and he had caught her.

Hermione felt momentarily relieved when he stared back at her indifferently; but when he started to lazily make his way towards her, Hermione's heart started to beat in mild panic.

_This can't be good,_ Hermione thought while lifting her chin defiantly like a true Gryffindor. Inside, though, her nerves were tingling with dread. It wasn't that she felt she was in danger. No, she was quite confident that he wouldn't try anything in a room full of people. Instead, her fear stemmed from what she learned from their Portions class together.

Tom Riddle was impossible to read, and it was what made this version of Voldemort, this _human_ 18-year-old, more dangerous than the openly hostile Dark Lord.

Hermione knew her mind was overreacting. He probably wanted to simply talk to her. Yet, after her epiphany, her realization that she knew absolutely nothing about him, she felt a strange sort of wariness towards him. It was as if she was walking on eggshells trying to discover him, as if his slate was completely wiped clean.

_A clean slate for Tom Marvolo Riddle. Maybe that's the best way to destroy him. Maybe that's how we need to think in order to find his weakness._

Hermione barely had time to put a smile on her face as Riddle stopped two feet in front of her. He inclined his head in greeting, having no idea how his simple act of walking over to her had affected her thoughts.

"Welcome to your first Slughorn bash, Ms. Granger," he greeted, the picture of politeness and hospitality.

Hermione, shocked and slightly relieved by his cordial greeting_, _inclined her head back at him and gave him a small, forced smile. "Thank you, Riddle. How very kind of you to greet me." _Oh, he would put on a public act for me, wouldn't he?_

"The pleasure is all mine. I'm always inclined to _share_ my hospitality with others," he drawled.

Hermione decided to ignore the extra emphasis he placed on the word share, knowing full well he was referring to the book. Instead, she mustered as genuine of a smile as she could while inwardly wishing that their small talk would end. "Everyone seems to agree with you, Riddle. I've heard never-ending compliments about your manners and your academic success."

"Everyone at Hogwarts is too kind," he replied, looking so genuinely humble that Hermione almost believed him. "This truly is an excellent school, what with the professors, the grounds, the _books_…."

Hermione succeeded in not smirking at his antics. He was playing a verbal game with her, and he was smugly letting her know it. And for Merlin's sake, he couldn't even wait until the formalities were over.

_Funny you would do this at a party, Voldemort. What's so special about this book of yours? Is it just that paragraph that we found? Or could there possibly be more? _

Whatever his game was, Hermione decided to play along. She was at a party after all.

"Oh, yes, the books especially. Being homeschooled, I've rarely seen this large of a selection," she agreed innocently. Completely oblivious, as she quickly learned, was the best way to go with this dark-haired boy.

"Speaking of the library," he said, allowing the corners of his mouth to tilt upwards slightly. "Sorry that our second encounter had to be worst than our first. I'm afraid those weren't my best impressions."

Hermione stared sharply into his eyes after his apology. Again, he sounded genuine, but she couldn't read his eyes. This, for some reason, is what irked Hermione the most about him. In the past two weeks she had seen him around school, she had witnessed what she thought were genuine actions from him: helping the professors in class and laughing at his fellow Slytherins' jokes from time to time. But in the rare moments she caught a glimpses of his eyes, they were totally void of any real emotion.

They were cloudy, unreadable. Blank.

This, again, reminded Hermione of the danger and the challenge Tom Riddle presented. However, it was in Hermione's nature to love challenges, and everytime she would see his lack of emotion, she felt the need to provoke him, to make him feel some emotion similar to the humans he will kill in the future.

And right now, she wanted to confuse him.

"Actually, Riddle, I quite enjoy your company. You seem…more intelligent than most."

She looked up to search his face again, but she was sadly disappointed. There was nothing there. She had offered him a compliment, when he clearly knew she didn't like him, and there was nothing. Frustrated, Hermione was about to continue, when a booming voice interrupted them.

"Ah, Tom!" Slughorn exclaimed. He rushed over and gave Riddle a bear hug, one that was borderline indecent between a teacher and a student. That hug left no doubt in anyone's mind that Tom was the clear favorite of Slughorn's collection.

"Professor," he answered after he disentangled himself from the hug.

Slughorn then turned towards Hermione, his normally greedy expression turning absolutely ravenous with personal ambition. "My dear Miss Granger. It has been remiss of me to not reintroduce you to the pride and joy of Hogwarts, Mr. Tom Riddle."

He slapped Riddle on the back with that comment, making Tom lurch forward awkwardly. Hermione had to stop herself from grinning at Slughorn's rough treatment of the future Dark Lord.

Slughorn, unaware of the displeasure he was causing, motioned for the group next to the window to join them. "We were just talking about the art of dueling. Surely you've been involved in a couple of duels yourself Miss Granger?"

_More than you know at this point in time, Professor_, Hermione thought sarcastically.

At the end of her thought, she noticed everyone was staring at her expectantly. She also saw Draco (who she had forgotten about during her encounter with Voldemort) , at the very edge of her peripheral vision, and he was staring at her intently. Hermione hadn't seen him the whole party, and it was clear, by the frustration on his face, that he knew it. However, his gaze was also intense, and she felt as if he was trying to tell her something.

Hermione, knowing that Slughorn was waiting for an answer, jerked her thoughts from Draco and quickly summoned all of the information she knew about dueling from the filing cabinets in her brain. In the 1940s, dueling wasn't banned from schools. Professors would be allowed to demonstrate examples or give exams in a dueling format. It was also a way that students used to gain respect.

Before she could answer, Draco was doing a weird jerking motion with his head. She tried not to pay attention to him, but as she stared thoughtfully back at Slughorn and Riddle, she knew without a doubt what Draco was trying to say.

This is our opportunity.

Hermione, thinking fast, summoned her best humble smile from her acting reserve. It was the best she could do not to jump with glee at their fortune. If she could just manipulate the situation correctly, than she could achieve her goal.

"I've been involved in a couple," she replied cryptically. She then turned to Draco, trying hard not to smirk at him. "But Draco has been my only worthy opponent."

"Oh, Mr. Rothschild is a skilled dueler as well?" Slughorn asked, his eyebrows raised in curiosity as he turned towards Draco.

The blonde in question deigned to answer with a slight incline of his head.

Slughorn clapped his hands together excitedly, and Hermione thought it was all too easy. "Well do show us! I always love a good duel. And this one will be particularly exciting for me, because I have yet to see both of you prove your prowess with a wand."

Immediately after, the floor cleared and the party food was taken away. The Slug Club hurriedly moved to one side of the room, and to Draco and Hermione's pleasure, 1940s Voldy took a front row seat.

Hermione walked towards Draco, pulling her wand out as she situated herself across from him. Draco pulled his wand out as well, and when they executed the formal bow, he whispered, "Keep it nonverbal."

At his words, Hermione successfully imitated the perfect Malfoy smirked. "Of course I'll keep it nonverbal, Draco. You of all people should know how I like to do battle."

Even though Hermione's smirk grew as she uncharacteristically sauntered across the room, she felt anxious about not having time to discuss anything with Draco. As a result, her mind buzzed with unanswered questions. What will Draco do to me? What will I do to Draco? Will he throw Unforgivables? Should I cast spells that the people in the room have never even heard of before? How far can we take this duel?

As Hermione turned and faced Draco, the blonde, even without knowing her for very long, seemed to know her well enough to know that she was worrying. He seemed to sense the questions assaulting her mind, and he gave her a barely discernable nod, as if he was telling her to do her worst.

At his reassurance, Hermione resolved to not give him much quarter; but as she briefly glanced at the 17-year-old Voldemort watching with mild interest, Hermione also knew she had to lose. Draco, being the only one in Lord Voldemort's house, has to win his respect, and he can't possibly do that if he loses to a Gryffindor, much less one that has been aggravating him lately.

Without warning, the blonde she had been pondering shot a curse at her.

She dodged it and quickly executed a somersault, aiming her wand right at his chest as she rolled out of it. She sent Draco a mild hex to test his reflexes, and he easily flicked it aside with a raise of his eyebrows. Hermione smiled back wickedly at his challenge, her nerves tingling and her blood boiling with the adrenaline. She was in battle mode now, and there was no way she was going down without making sure she accomplished her goal.

Before Draco could get over his cocky deflection of Hermione's hex, she sent a curse his way. It barely missed him, knicking his ear and blowing a massive hole in the wall behind them. Feeling competitive and annoyed now, Draco shot three different spells in Hermione's direction. She quickly shielded herself from the first two, but she refracted the third one, sending it back his way.

Draco, unprepared for this, got his curse in the shoulder, and it threw him back against the wall.

As the spell hit Draco, Hermione realized two things. 1) He definitely wasn't using unforgivable, _thank Merlin. _2) Though Draco was her match, she was clearly having a better dueling day than he was, so she would have to be even more believable when she lost.

Lucky for her, Draco paid no attention to his hurt shoulder and lunged forward from the wall, sending another stream of spells. Hermione only shielded herself from the first one, dodged the second one, and, to the best of her ability, let the third one graze her leg. She tried her best not to hiss in pain, the spell feeling like a blunt knife cutting her leg. _._

Draco, trying to get her while she was down, advanced on Hermione, and she could see from her peripheral vision that his wand was moving in more intricate patterns, indicating the increasing power of his spells. Hermione matched his complexity and performed the most complex shield spell she knew. Instead of completely deflecting the spell, she absorbed it and sent it back towards Draco. He dodged it, and instead, the curse hit the wall, taking out bits of stone with its impact. Draco got up and raised an eyebrow at her, and Hermione smirked back at him.

Now, before she conceded to her former arch nemesis, she would give the other students a show. This was their chance to show the elite students at school that they were worth some attention, and this was Draco's chance to prove himself to Tom Riddle.

Hermione, despite her injury, started incorporating some footwork with her wand work. She quickly cast a spell and side-stepped, making it difficult for Draco to aim at her. In response, he circled with her, shooting nasty hexes while he was at it.

Hermione felt that it was almost time to give up. But before that happened, she pushed Draco a little more, pushing her spell work to the brink. Manipulating the stone that had crumbled from the wall from her previous spell, she sent it flying towards Draco. He stopped the rocks and made them land at his feet, but Hermione had already used that time to shoot two curses at him. Draco cursed and ducked just in time.

It occurred to Hermione, at that random and inopportune time during her duel, that someone should have stopped the duel a while ago, judging by the complexity and the intensity of their battle, but seeing as Slughorn was presiding, he was probably too entranced to care.

Draco, livid now, got up, and Hermione, choosing to stop the duel before it got any more heated, looked at him in the eye, and tried to communicate her decision. Draco, despite his anger, nodded, and sent her a spell that emitted a dark red light. She recognized it as an advanced stunning spell, one that would knock her out for a couple of days. Hermione, again surprised by Draco's choice against dark spells, threw another spell for appearances sake, let herself get hit squarely in the chest, and gave herself over to sleep.

* * *

**Monday, September 21****st****, 8:10 PM**

"Malfoy, when she wakes up – which she better – and if she tells me that you were being a malicious dolt when you dueled her, I will kick that little, pale white ars--."

"Oh knock it off, Ron. We don't want everyone going deaf from all of your yelling."

"Yeah, and she agreed to me beating her --."

"Hermione would never! I trusted you, but now I know I can't since you knocked her out for three whole --."

Hermione, at the noise they were creating, shifted on the bed, and the three males in the room immediately quieted. She stretched and opened her eyes, her brain recollecting her last memories. As she looked at Harry, Ron, and Draco and smiled, she reflected that she felt rather good for having been knocked out from a duel.

Suddenly, Ron's words hit her full force. "I've been asleep for three days?" Her voice was raspy and weak from not being used for three days.

"Just about," Harry replied, smiling at her.

Hermione sat up gingerly, and she applied pressure to her head. From Harry's experiences and some of her own, Hermione knew that passing out usually left a random tender spot on one's head.

"To answer your unvoiced question, Hermione, you landed face first and got a nasty bruise," Draco drawled, smirking as she started anxiously checking her face again.

Harry glared at him before turning back towards Hermione. "You know that magic clears those injuries up pretty quickly. You're fine, Hermione. You just needed to wake up from that spell."

Hermione, fully back to her senses, didn't care one bit about her well being. A ton of new developments had occurred, and she wanted to know what had transpired during her short absence. She focused her gaze on Draco and asked, "Can you cast a silencing charm around us?"

Draco took out his wand and complied while the boys settled on her bed.

Ron, in his rare acts of sensitivity, asked, "Are you sure you want to discuss this now, Hermione? You just woke up and --."

"I'm fine, Ron," she replied, dismissing his concern. "Now, I want to know if we've progressed a bit."

The boys all smiled, which means that they all managed to accomplish a task. Hermione smiled back, ecstatic that her passing out had resulted in progress, and gazed at Draco with an expectant expression.

He put on what Hermione had come to know as his triumphant smirk and said, "He respects me. We actually had a little chat in the common room after our duel."

"Oh," Hermione breathed, pleased. "How did that go?"

"Well, first he commented, with that sarcastic Voldemort tone, that we made it quite an exciting evening." Draco cleared his throat and straightened his back then, giving clear indication that he was going to tell the rest of his story Tom Riddle style. "You and Granger caused quite a stir, Rothschild. You two are quite more advanced than I thought."

"Oh good, you appealed to his sense for collecting shiny, highly skilled objects," Harry said sarcastically, despite hearing the good news.

Draco didn't deign to huff at being interrupted, because he was too focused on his Tom Riddle impression. "I don't suppose you have that same amount of skill with…other types of spells?"

"Dark spells," Hermione stated rather than asked.

Draco nodded and continued, a cold, calculating half smile, if you could even call it that, gracing his face. "We'll talk sometime in the future."

Hermione reflected that he had really become talented at imitating the younger Voldemort.

"That's great! So you're almost a Death Eater," Harry asked enthusiastically.

Hermione reflected again that it was weird for Harry to sound so ecstatic about someone becoming a Death Eater.

"Assuming he's started the organization," Draco drawled, his devil-may-care expression showing that he was indeed proud of his work.

To the group's surprise, and unexpected voice answered Draco's words.

"He has," Ron replied simply, as if it was the most obvious statement in the world.

Everyone's head snapped around to face him. "How do you know?" Hermione and Harry asked simultaneously.

"Ugh, I was almost included in that bizarre say-things-at-the-same-time thing you three always do," Draco scoffed, disgusted with himself.

Harry and Hermione chose not to respond, and instead urged Ron to continue.

"Um," Ron started, his body language suddenly becoming nervous and fidgety. "I…well, you know how I said I had a plan a couple of weeks ago."

The group nodded, and even Draco was tactful enough not to mention his doubt on whether he actually had a plan.

"Well, umm…I did some stuff…..and, um, I became a Death Eater. Surprise," Ron said sheepishly, clearly worried about how his friends would take the news.

Hermione's jaw dropped with surprise, and Draco raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Harry, on the other hand, looked like he just had an epiphany.

"So that's what you've been up to," Harry said in awe.

"Wait, he's been up to something and hasn't told me," Hermione protested, feeling slightly and irrationally annoyed.

"Well, Hermione, if I know Ron correctly, he felt that, since you are already taking on a huge task, that he would do a little side one to help you out," Harry said.

"That really was my reasoning, Hermione," Ron said, pouting for her to forgive him.

Hermione's surprise and slightly hurt feelings subsided to that of awe. A Weasley becoming a Death Eater. How utterly amazing!

"How did you do it?" Hermione asked in amazement.

Ron grinned. "Simple. I asked him."

"What?" she asked in disbelief.

"Really, Hermione, give me some credit. After all, it's not hard to convince Voldemort that you're a dark wizard when you bow to him and show him an Unforgivable," Ron answered.

"You used an Unforgivable?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"On a spider," Ron explained quickly. "It was Harry's idea, even though, at the time, he didn't know what I would be using it for. We thought that since the organization is just getting started and if we had to, we can get by on just Unforgivables to infiltrate. And, according to Harry's knowledge, he is not that skilled at legilimancy yet, so he wouldn't know my true intentions. Plus, everyone in this decade doesn't have a maniac that views shooting Unforgivables everywhere as a family pass time. It's somewhat rare for someone to even mutter the Cruciatus in this decade, making me special."

As Hermione digested this information, she slowly looked at her two boys with pride in her eyes. She pulled them into a sporadic trio hug, and she gazed at Draco in a way that let him know that he did an amazing job as well. Merlin, what would she do without them.

After a couple of seconds, the boys extracted themselves from her bed.

"It's almost curfew," Harry said sheepishly.

"We'll come visit tomorrow," Ron added reassuringly.

"And I'm sure I'll be towed back up here," Draco sighed.

Hermione rolled her eyes at his comment.

"Actually Draco," Harry piped up, "You won't."

"Yeah, turns out, Hermione is miffed with you after the duel," Ron said mischievously.

"Oh yeah, Hermione, I forgot to tell you that we've had a huge row over the duel, and now we don't like each other. I am once again a Gryffindor hater," Draco announced, with his chest puffed out.

Hermione sniggered at his comment, and she was proud that Draco had remembered to cut ties with them. And then, her eyes widened in realization. "Then what the hell are you doing in here with me?"

"Having a row," Draco winked. "And plus, no one is in here but you, so we don't have to have a public fight anyway. Now, Hermione, we must go, and remember, I hate you."

"And I you, Draco," Hermione replied sweetly.

The boys started to walk away, but then Harry stopped abruptly. "You have two letters by the way," he said before continuing on his way.

Hermione turned towards her nightstand and noticed the two letters, one in a creamy white envelope and one that was not in an envelope but simply folded in two.

She picked up the first one and saw that the sender had left the front of the envelope blank. She turned the letter and tried to open it, but found that someone had spelled it shut. She got her wand from the nightstand and tried a couple of unsealing charms, but to no avail. Hermione, frustrated, thought of everyone she knew who could possibly want to magically seal their letters. After a couple of minutes, she realized that, in the war, spies and Ministry agents had been the ones to use particular and complex sealing spells just in case their information was intercepted.

Her eyes widened, knowing exactly who sent this letter. Hermione's knowledge of the sender helped her narrow down the correct unsealing technique. After three tries, she tried an incantation, muttering the words Severus Snape at the end. The envelope opened easily, and Hermione quickly unfolded the letter.

_Trio and Draco,_

_I have some important information. Find a way to meet me in that Room you lot use for your personal gain. Thursday, 10:00._

_-S.S._

Hermione, despite herself, smiled, because even Snape, whom they haven't heard from since they got here, was making progress towards their mission. She daintily placed his letter to the side, wondering briefly at what he's been doing these past two weeks, and opened the next letter.

Her smile disappeared as she read the words.

_Granger,_

_Today, Slughorn has assigned you to be my potions partner. Do get well. It's going to be a long project._

_T.R. _

……………………………………………..

**Author's note:** So, I'm a little rusty, and I'll most likely go back and revise this some more later. I hope you enjoyed the read. I tried making it longer than usual, since I haven't been writing as of late. If you like this story, please R/R. It'll make me update sooner. Anyway, thank you for reading!!!


	5. Enigmas: Helices and the Head Boy

**A/N: **I wanted to update sooner, but this chapter is really important. It introduces the beginning of the mystery plotline of the story, and, now that the introductions are done, it also introduces a basis for Tom and Hermione's relationship (and its progression). However, those two will progress slowly, because they have a lot of obstacles to get over, and right now, they are still strangers. I've also provided a ton of hints and foreshadowing, though some won't be as obvious as others. **I hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading!**

**Also, there are some events in this chapter that might seem vague or confusing. **Keep in mind that this story is in Hermione's point of view, and there are still things she doesn't understand herself

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything of JK Rowlings.

* * *

**Shout outs:**

**Massimo**: Thank you so much for your compliment, and thank you for being my wonderful beta reader! You're the best!

**Jeanne**: Your compliments were amazing! I'm glad that you find my story refreshing. In regards to your constructive criticism (which I appreciate), this chapter, actually, is the beginning to the introductions of the group of people the Trio and Draco will have lasting relationships with, good or bad. Hope you enjoy!

**Moonstargazer**: Your "drival" was highly appreciated. I love getting feedback on my plotline, my characters, anything really. Thank you so much for reading!

**Ashyia Francis Belladonna**: Your review actually made my day. I was worried about how rusty I was, since I haven't written in FOREVER, but you helped me see that I was still writing well. Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Ybs**: Thanks so much for the positive feedback on the Tom/Hermione interaction and Draco. He's my personal favorite character, so I always find myself giving him the best lines. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

**And to everyone else**: Thank you for taking the time to review and read. You guys are what keep me motivated, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. It took a while to write, but I'm actually really proud of it.

* * *

**Thursday, September 24****th****, 1944 – Gryffindor Common Room**

"Congratulations!" Hermione squealed as she kissed her two best friends on the cheek.

"Thanks Hermione," Harry said happily before giving her a kiss back.

"Yeah, thanks Hermione. And here you were Harry, whining that you probably wouldn't make seeker," Ron said, nudging his best friend knowingly.

"Alright,fine, I'll admit it. I've been a bit of a _Ron_ these past couple of hours, what with my worrying, and my sulking, and my absurdly low self-esteem --."

"Oh, shut up, mate --."

"But I'm fully recovered now. And, at least I didn't Transfigure my book into a hornets' nest in class today, because I was fretting that I wouldn't make the team and therefore not have the female population _finally_ take notice of me," Harry added cheekily.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at Harry's behavior. "How very Draco of you."

"Well," Ron huffed, putting his nose up in the air in true Hermione style, "I'm a Beater now. Your accusation is a moot point."

After Ron's comment, Hermione couldn't help it. She had to roll her eyes at their antics.

The tryouts for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team had been yesterday. For Hermione, that meant that she had to endure antsy, nervous, testosterone driven, Quidditch obsessed boys for _eighteen_ bloody hours. It was ridiculous really. They hadn't showered because Quidditch stench was good luck; They hadn't been taking notes in class, because they chose to quietly discuss the statistics of whether or not they would make the team; and they hadn't eaten breakfast or lunch, done their homework, or slept, because they were 'too nervous to do anything, for Merlin's sake, Hermione'.

Needless to say, the female not Quidditch obsessed member of the Trio was relieved the results were up in the Common Room. She loved her best friends, and she enjoyed watching them play from time to time, but she never understood how they could put everything on hold for a Quaffle and a Snitch. Albeit, it was a popular, school sponsored game, but a game nonetheless. She didn't feel that Quidditch was worth the hours Harry and Ron made her sit through discussions of strategy and who could possibly beat them for their spots. Instead, those talks were driving her crazy, and she found that she was giving herself pep talks so that she wouldn't slap them back to the future.

However, Hermione knew that wasn't possible, so instead, she calmed her annoyed state by giving herself mental pats on the back every time she didn't let her temper get the best of her.

Now, happy and satisfied her other thirds were elated, she decided that it was a good time to finally pull them out of the portrait hole and get to more important business. "Alright, now that we know you two are going to be Quidditch stars again, we have a grumpy dungeon bat to attend to."

"Two of them," Ron pointed out, a goofy grin plastered on his face. "Rothschild counts."

Hermione decided to let that one go. Obviously Ron was still ecstatic from making the Quidditch team again, and she stubbornly refused to ruin it by giving him a biting retort.

Instead, Hermione let out all of her irritation from the past couple of hours by practically dragging her boys down the hall to the Room of Requirements. She wanted to remind them that, though she was happy for them, they were only doing Quidditch again because the group had agreed that it would be beneficial for them to get some fame and prestige for the sake of their mission.

As Draco put it, '_Ron needs to get popular really fast. You can't be a proper Death Eater without having useful connections. So, fake brunette, you better get well-liked before everyone discovers you're actually terrible at Quidditch._'

Watching the door to the Room of Requirements appear as Hermione concluded her brief interlude with her thoughts, she opened it and found a tattered, dirty, tired looking Severus Snape.

The sight of him was a surprise. Truth be told, the group had all but forgotten about him, so caught up were they with their own mission. But, seeing their old professor there reminded them that they had no idea what Snape had been up to these past couple of weeks, and it made them eager to hear his news.

Snape was currently sitting on one of the three couches he conjured in front of a toasty fireplace, and he motioned for the trio to sit as well. Hermione couldn't help but notice his expression as she complied and sat in the middle of the couch closest to Snape. The look in his eyes, though serious like always, had a hint of emotion she couldn't quite identify; and just that slight shift in his look made her think that Snape did indeed uncover some important information.

Ron and Harry sat on either side of Hermione on the same sofa, and she could see out of the corner of her eyes that they noticed Snape's mood as well.

Draco walked in slightly after the Trio had arrived, and he leisurely took up the remaining couch across from Snape, a curious look clearly displayed on his face.

Then they waited. It seemed like they waited for hours, but Hermione's logic told her that time was moving slower because she felt distinctly uncomfortable. Usually, by now, Snape would be barking out orders and snapping at them for not moving fast enough, but his silence caused her to be suspicious.

'_What are you hiding Professor?' _Hermione thought, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"What have you four been up to?" Snape asked suddenly and calmly, causing the Time Travelers to jump at the abrupt way he broke the ice. His gaze then landed on Draco, prompting him to answer.

"A lot, professor," Draco replied, the confusion subtly evident in his voice.

Hermione could tell that Snape's behavior had caused him to be suspicious as well. Something was off about their former Potions Master. He was being too calm with them.

"A lot," Snape repeated. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Tell me."

Hermione, still wary of Snape's mood, took it upon herself to relay everything they knew. Snape listened attentively to her information, but his face was emotionless. Hermione couldn't decipher whether he was pleased or distraught by the information.

As she finished, Snape made a humming noise in his throat, and it caused the younger time travelers to give each other discreet bewildered looks. They all knew that the true Severus Snape's was not a calm man, and when he could be described as anything close to serene, he was usually out to deceive. Calmness, for this wizard, was usually synonymous with the calm before a storm.

Snape, either unaware of the group's suspicions or choosing to ignore them, said, "I was hoping that something of this nature would be discovered."

"Why?" the group asked in unison, which caused Draco to make a disgusted face. He hated it when the Golden Trio asked questions in unison.

Snape abruptly stood, linked his hands behind his back and calmly started to circle the table. "I'm aware that you four do not know the details of my mission. With Dumbledore's orders, you lot were supposed to remain in the dark about certain information unless you four found out for yourselves."

His words made the tension thicker.

Hermione could tell that Harry was fighting with his emotions at Snape's statement. She knew that he never appreciated not knowing valuable pieces of information from Dumbledore, no matter the old wizard's reasoning.

"Did he know about Riddle's soul?" Ron blurted, knowing that Harry was fuming beside him and in no state to ask questions.

"No, but he knew there was more to his Horcruxes, and Dumbledore specifically told me to let you four find out for yourselves. Apparently, forcing information to appear before the powers of time decide will cause serious ramifications." Snape's answer had a tinge of bitterness to it, and it confirmed two theories for Hermione: Severus Snape did not approve of Dumbledore's plan, and he was most _definitely_ hiding something.

"Why would he still keep information from us?" Harry bit off, no longer able to hide his anger.

"I will not pretend to know the workings behind the old man's mind," Snape said coldly, not even deigning to look at Harry as he continued his circle around the table. "However, I do know that the information I have found correlates directly with yours."

Hermione sat up a bit straighter while she mentally slapped herself. In her confusion at Snape's behavior, she had not thought to ask what he had been doing these past two weeks.

Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared at the older wizard pensively. "What have you been doing lately, professor?"

Snape stopped pacing and sat down again, an eyebrow raised at her inquiry. "How nice of you to ask, Miss Granger," he drawled. "And if you must know, I've been to the wizarding library in Paris."

"Wait, you what?" Draco asked incredulously. "No offense, professor, but weren't you the one that told us not to be bizarre? I thought that Weasley took the cake in the weird category, but your adventure --."

"Oh shut up, Draco," Snape interrupted, exasperated. "I had my means of getting there and getting back undetected."

As Hermione listened attentively to his story, she picked up on some major holes. He wasn't telling them something, and her mind was working to try to find the right question to ask that would reveal his secrets. "But, if Dumbledore already knew about Horcruxes, why did he tell you to find a book about them?"

"Dumbledore knew about them, but he didn't know everything," Snape snapped. "And you insufferable children would know what I've been up to if you would pipe down and listen."

The three boys had the decency to look properly chastised. Hermione, despite the seriousness of the situation, tried to hide her grin at the fact that Snape was starting to show his true colors after his brief calm stint. It only took him a couple of minutes in the company of four teenagers for him to lose his temper.

"Now," Snape continued in his lecture voice. "Dumbledore didn't want to base your knowledge of Horcruxes on mere memories. Since we are here to give the future a second chance, we have to take our time and be utterly prepared. We cannot make mistakes."

"How are we to know everything we need to know if Dumbledore insists on keeping secrets?" Harry muttered darkly.

"Obviously you didn't listen to what I said earlier, Potter," Snape snapped again. "There are certain laws of time that we have to follow, so we have to watch our actions and our knowledge. Even when one goes back in time, things are meant to happen when they're supposed to happen, and messing with that law might destroy our future for good. Therefore, we can only be guided by our intentions, and let events happen in their own time." Snape then grabbed a thumb-sized item from his pocket and enlarged it with his wand. "So, my intention – or my mission – is to find books about Horcruxes that you three can't access while you are here at the castle. I started by finding the closest book on Horcruxes – one that explained exactly what they were. I had to steal this from the Paris library."

Hermione tried really hard not to cry out in indignation. Stealing from a library was utter blasphemy to her. However, her logic was telling her that calling Snape out on his choices was the next best way (after pissing the future Dark Lord off) to get Avada-ed. First she would have to listen to his story, and she would have to pay attention to see if he was still keeping secrets in the end.

"But don't we already know everything?" Ron interjected bravely. "I mean, the concept is pretty simple, right. He kills someone, his soul splits, he places them in valuable inanimate objects, and he curses them so that people won't destroy them." Ron then gave a goofy grin. "He's quite the masochistic one, isn't he?"

Snape didn't even restrain himself from rolling his eyes. "Your style of thinking, Mr. Weasley --."

"Smith."

" – Smith, is why you hardly passed my class. You jump to conclusions and you don't think about all the aspects of your mission," Snape spat, now highly irritated. "Granger told you that we shouldn't assume anything about Tom Riddle's life, and this book is proof of her words yet again."

Hermione had to smirk at Snape's now apparent irritation. By now, she sensed that his mood at the beginning of their conversation had completely dissipated; but, as she watched her former Potions Master, she still couldn't help but think that there was more to his story. She didn't know what he was keeping from them, and she knew that he would not tell his secrets. Hermione would just have to find out for herself.

Snape placed the book on the table. Hermione eyes quickly darted to the cover, and she could see the words _A Soul's Complex Properties _etched in French in the dark blue leather binding. After she read the title, her eyes bulged out of her eyes, and suddenly, she understood what Snape had actually done.

"You infiltrated the restricted section in the Wizarding Library of Paris," Hermione whispered in awe.

"I'm pretty sure we got that, Hermione," Ron said, rolling his eyes at her. "And don't look so violated. It's not like he stole _Hogwarts: A History._"

Hermione turned to glare at Ron. "Honestly, Ronald, you're a wizard and you've traveled the world with your family, and you don't know what Snape has done?"

"Well, we usually didn't go to Paris --." Ron mumbled, before Hermione cut him off.

"That's not the point," she snapped, hushing him. Hermione then looked at Harry and Draco, and her voice softened before she continued. "The wizarding library in Paris is the library that holds all of wizard-kind's history. It contains everything from Merlin's wand to the secrets of the Hogwarts founders. This particular library is important, because wizards have constantly tried to hide their presence from muggles, causing there to be no visible monuments of their history. This is the only place that is allowed to display wizarding history for the magical world to see."

"Yeah, and the place is always on high security. My father had to wait a week before he could even set foot on the second floor of that place," Malfoy added.

"So, Snape was cunning enough to bypass the security and get all the way to the restricted section without being detected; and he was able to leave with his target," Harry summarized. If Hermione didn't know better, she would think that Harry sounded as if he had a newfound appreciation for his former Potions Master.

"How did you do it?" Ron asked, not hiding his awe.

"The only thing I'll divulge is that I had a relative that worked there," Snape replied mysteriously. "And, now that we've gotten ridiculously off topic, would you let me continue?"

The time traveler's nodded, their curiosity engaged more by the story now than their suspicions of Snape.

The Potions Master summoned his lecture voice again. "Draco, would you turn to page 992?"

Draco quickly complied. Once he reached the page, his face contorted into confusion. "Helices?"

Hermione couldn't keep her eyes from looking bewildered. "Like muggle DNA?"

Instead of scowling at her for her stupidity, Snape stared at her thoughtfully. "What an interesting thought Miss Granger."

At his words, Hermione tried her best not to collapse on the floor in shock, and she patted herself on the back for not doing so. Severus Snape had never called her or her thoughts interesting in all her years at Hogwarts.

Snape didn't notice her surprise and continued thoughtfully. "From what I know of muggle genetic science, there is such a thing as a double helix, two strands that make up a DNA molecule. These molecules make up our being, our very essence."

Hermione thought that Snape could handle a correction in his current state. "Only our physical being," she pointed out.

"Still Miss Granger," Snape insisted. "The concepts have some remarkable similarities."

"This discussion about muggle stuff is all well and good," Draco interrupted with his signature bored tone, "But we have a homicidal teenager on the loose. How the hell are we going to solve that problem?"

"If you want to know the answer to that question, just read the book. I'm sure your Pureblood upbringing has made you competent in translating French," Snape replied.

Draco, with a roll of his eyes, pulled the book closer to him and read out loud. "_When a soul is separated through the Unforgivable act, its pieces can be placed into inanimate objects. The possessed object then takes on the name Horcrux_."

"Skip to the fourth paragraph," Snape urged impatiently.

Draco huffed, but complied. "_The concept of a helix is complex. The most popular theories of soul magic all acknowledge the helices' existence. Researchers have described it as a sort of string that keeps the soul whole. Though this string is severed when a wizard kills and creates Horcruxes, they can always be repaired. However, this act requires a bonder that can wield the most powerful magic known to wizarding kind. Not following this requirement results in death_."

As Draco finished, the room sat eerily still as the words processed into the groups' minds.

Hermione, for once in her life, was completely surprised. She had so many questions. Why was this knowledge kept a secret? Why hadn't they known? Why hadn't Dumbledore known? Did Tom Riddle already know this? And if he did, why was he trying to fix his soul?

Snape brought everyone out of their reverie. "There's more," he urged again, his voice now slightly coaxing. "Continue Draco."

The Slytherin shook his head slightly in amazement and did as Snape asked. "_If the wizard is successful in fixing his Horcruxes, the newly unified soul transforms into a different form. One can even control what form the soul takes. Only two wizards have succeeded in manipulating the reunion of their souls. One wizard ended up with more magic, while the other lost his magic forever_."

"So, you're telling me that this is what Tom Riddle wants?" Harry asked skeptically. "How, Snape, is it possible that we never knew about this? I find it convenient that you would randomly come back from Paris with a book that gives us the answers to our prayers."

"I'm sure it'll twist your wand a bit more, Potter, but Dumbledore gave orders to let you find this piece of information yourself," Snape replied coldly.

Harry slammed his fists on the table. "Stop keeping secrets from me!" he yelled, his glasses going askew from the impact of the hit. "Why does that old man insist on these secrets? I have almost died from them, and yet he still keeps information from me!"

Hermione quickly placed a soothing hand on his fist, and Ron patted him lightly on the arm. "I understand," Ron started slowly, trying not to incur Harry's wrath, "that this is all hard to believe, Harry. But listen, mate, I dislike Snape as much as the next Gryffindor, but we need to hear him out, alright?"

Hermione thankfully felt Harry's clenched fists loosen a bit. She looked up and saw his eyes squeeze together tightly before he took a deep breath and said, "Fine."

Snape, hearing his admission, continued like nothing happened. "As I see it, we still don't know if this is true. Of course, you four have already found a piece of information that has led you down the path of Helices. However, I don't want you acting on this information. I just want you to find out if it's true," he instructed.

"Yeah, we've been trying," Harry grumbled.

Hermione saw Snape's jaw clench slightly, but continued, again, like nothing happened. "Which means that you four need to work harder. I know Weasley has already infiltrated, but Draco is in his house, and Granger frequents his life regularly as well. Use those opportunities. And, as for me, I'll be doing more research; and I trust Granger will be doing some of her own."

Not knowing how to respond, the four time travelers just looked at him. It was clear to them that Snape, even though he gifted them with valuable information, had not helped much. Hermione's instincts told her that this was intentional. The man, as she suspected, still had secrets at the end of their conversation, and Hermione would work to uncover them, just like Dumbledore intended.

Snape, not bothering to feel awkward under their gazes, rummaged through his robes and, to everyone's surprise, pulled out a small, magically minimized object. He then got up, swiftly walked towards Hermione and motioned for her to open her hand.

As she complied and let the item drop in her hand, she examined it and found that it was a minimized Pensieve. His action surprised her into realizing she had neglected an important part of her mission: the Midnight Memories. Snape giving her a Pensieve showed her that she had been remiss in finding her own, and it gave her no reason to keep putting those memories off.

She made to reach for her wand and enlarge it, but Snape stopped her.

"Don't enlarge it now. Take a look at it in the privacy of your own room. Let no one know you have it, and make sure to read the instructions," he commanded.

"But there aren't any --."

"My time has run out," Snape interrupted again. "You'll know what do, Granger. Now, the fireplace from this room will floo me to a safe location. I trust that you will do your duty." And, with a raise of his eyebrow, he turned, through floo powder into the fireplace, and disappeared.

Ron, after a large pregnant pause caused by the departure of their former Potions Master, let out a huge sigh. "As confusing as Snape was trying to make that whole encounter, he really just told us to do stuff we already know. How utterly unhelpful!"

"Yeah, he really just came here to act strange and be dramatic. How very feminine of him," Harry said dryly.

Draco scowled. "You two are ridiculous. He just revealed a whole new piece of the puzzle!"

"Yeah, but he doesn't even know if it's true," Harry snapped. "So we are at the exact same place we were before."

Hermione, at this point, had enough of his attitude. "Please, stop. Yes, he didn't really help much in terms of plans, bit he did provide a valuable piece of information."

"Not one we can use," Ron retorted. "This figure-things-out-for-yourselves crap is getting irritating. Whatever happened to just letting us know the secret?" Ron then spared a glance at Harry. "Oh wait, no one ever tells Harry anything, so I guess we're guilty by association."

Harry gave him an honest to Merlin glare for his comment.

Hermione, like always, interrupted. "Again, please stop. We now know – or hopefully know – the basics behind the soul. This will aid us. It doesn't matter if we know or don't know what is going on. The only thing we can do is find out what we can. This knowledge will just guide our search."

"We want to kill him, Hermione, not get to know him. We need to get at his Horcruxes," Harry said darkly.

Hermione decided to not argue anymore and appease Harry. Honestly, this was getting tiresome. "Yes, and Ron can't do that. He has already established himself as a follower. We need you, Draco. You have already proven your worth in magic. You just need to continue doing that."

"Yes, and when I find out where his precious soul is being stored, what the hell are we supposed to do?" Draco drawled.

"We'll figure that out later. Now, let's get to sleep. We have class in the morning." And with that, she carefully tucked the small Pensieve into to the pocket of her robe and left.

* * *

**Friday, September 25****th****, 1944 – 7:58 AM**

It was fair to say that, on a beautiful fall morning, Hermione Granger was livid.

She had woken up on time, eaten breakfast on time, and gone down to the dungeons slightly ahead of schedule. Therefore, Slughorn should have done his part and provided a stimulating and exiting lecture on a Seventh Year Level Potion.

Instead, the man took the easy way out.

This lead the trio to stare wide eyed at a sign on the Potions classroom door that read:

**Potions Class Canceled**  
_Use this time to plan you projects with your partner_

Needless to say, this particular sign had Hermione fuming.

For one, her predictable, dependable, not spontaneous self absolutely abhorred surprises. Surprises, to her, translated into surprise attacks, surprise secrets, and surprise diseases. After the war, she was tired of surprises, so Slughorn's class cancelation grated on her nerves.

_This is a learning institution for Merlin's sake_, Hermione exclaimed in her mind. _That man is wasting valuable time_!

Second, Slughorn's project contained one requirement that Hermione thought was utterly ridiculous. The basic purpose is for two people to brew a Potion that requires a high level of skill. However, the students couldn't just pick any Potion; they had to choose one off of a list of forty potions that Slughorn deemed acceptable. The reason he took this task upon himself is because he wanted to choose Potions that would take a little more than half a year to brew.

_As young Potion makers, you must learn patience and finesse, two essential qualities one must possess to be a successful Potions brewer_, Slughorn explained.

Despite the fact that Hermione was intensely irritated with Slughorn, she thought that those words were the most intelligent he had ever spoken.

His third requirement was not, however.

The Potions Master's 'special requirement' is that the Potion must be representative of both partners' essence. The only clarification that Slughorn gave on his use of the word essence is that the Potion must be important to both partners. It must embody a bit of the soul of each person.

It took a pointed look from Harry and Ron, subtle I'm-going-to-kill-you gestures from Draco, and a thought to what would Snape say for Hermione not to raise her hand and ask if it would be an issue if her partner only had five-sevenths of a soul.

The thought of her partner reminded Hermione of the real reason she abhorred the sign on the Potions classroom door. It made her realize that she was going to spend seven months with a man who believed that she should be enslaved. Moreover, the third requirement wouldn't even be attempted. Even though, after his mistake on the first day of school, Riddle had been civil and cooperative with her in a classroom environment, she had a feeling that the way he was with her on the first day was more indicative of how Riddle would treat her on their private project. Hermione definitely wasn't under the illusion that they would end up with a Potion that she wanted.

_He's probably going to pick the Potion that makes the drinker turn into a muggle so that he can torture them_, Ron had muttered at breakfast.

Nevertheless, Hermione had to work with him. She was on a mission, and though it would be harder for her than it was for Ron and Draco, she had a chance to infiltrate not his ranks, but him directly. Also, she really didn't want her grade to drop in Potions, which could happen easily if he proved to SLughorn that he did everything. Hermione couldn't very well let that happen. How embarrassing would it be if she received an Acceptable in a class she had already taken?

"I don't understand what's got your wand in a twist, Hermione," Ron declared, which caused him to be on the receiving end of Hermione's glare.

"It's because class is canceled, Ron," Harry answered with a smirk. "Oh, and don't you dare glare at me, Hermione. You know I'm right."

"Actually," Hermione sniffed, her chin in the air, "You're not completely right."

"Oh course he is," Ron said. He then briefly stuck his tongue out at her once she centered her glare back on him. "When have you not been upset about class being canceled? Classroom attendance is crucial to your very existence. You'd rather attend class than eat, sleep, or brush your hair –."

"You're sounding a bit like Rothschild," Hermione grumbled. "And for your information, yes, Harry is wrong. Have you two forgotten who my potions partner is?"

At her words, Harry and Ron's mouths popped open into two perfect 'O's of realization.

Hermione looked at them knowingly. "_See? _ Now tell me not to be upset."

"Well, you don't have to go," Ron pointed out. "It's not like Slughorn's lurking in the corner and waiting to catch students not working on their Potions projects. And I really doubt that snake wants you around, especially since you've taken to annoying him every once and a while."

"It's not like I want to go see him, Ronald, but Riddle is notorious for his work ethic. He's probably in the library right now. And he's probably planning my academic demise as we speak," Hermione stressed, running a hand through her curls.

Harry grinned. "Of all the things a raving lunatic mass murderer could do to you, your imagination comes up with your academic demise?"

"Yes. He's pure evil, Harry! What else would he do?" Hermione snapped.

"Well, my theory is that he never sleeps, so planning your intellectual failure is probably what he does to keep himself occupied at night," Ron quipped.

"We all know what he really does at night," Harry said darkly, referring to Ron's Death Eater meetings.

"Regardless of his hobbies --."

"Since when is being a psycho a hobby?"

"Shut up, Ron," Hermione said calmly, trying to not take her negative feelings out on him. "Anyway, regardless of his hobbies, I have other, more important matters to settle with him."

"Now, don't go arguing with him, Hermione," Harry warned. "He could kill you in a second."

Hermione had to fight the urge to roll her eyes as Ron executed an overdramatic shudder.

"Honestly, he's more concerned about himself right now than muggle-born me," Hermione said, trying to convince herself just as much as the boys. She knew that they were still running blind in their situation.

"Do you want us to come with you? We can keep a wand at his throat while you go about your studying," Harry asked.

"No. You two have your own partners to find." Hermione made to move but saw that Harry was about to follow her. "Oh will you stop," she snapped. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Now, go find your partners. I promise I'll contribute to our cause."

* * *

**Thirty Minutes Later**

According to the Hogwarts school population, Tom Riddle frequented only one place aside from the Great Hall and his dorm – the Hogwarts library.

Hermione found this particular quirk strange, because after hearing Ron's account of the number of Death Eater recruits, she would think that Tom Riddle's favorite pass time was gathering unsuspecting wizards to aid him in his plot for world domination. He also seemed so incredibly social when Hermione observed him. In the Great Hall, she would always see him telling stories or laughing at other people's jokes. In class, he would be perfectly friendly to the people around him; and, after his slip in the library and on the first day of school, he had been polite to Hermione as well.

All of these observations would lead someone who studied him in excruciating detail (like Hermione did) to believe that he was quite popular. Yet, from where he liked to spend his time, she concluded that Tom Riddle preferred to be alone.

Once again, the brain of the Trio found another piece of information that didn't match up. How could he have so many willing followers, appear to have a lot of friends, and have so many social charms if he preferred to be a by himself? Any normal person would be exhausted from acting against their nature after a certain amount of time, yet Tom Riddle seemed to be a natural at it. In fact, it was almost as if he thrived on his ability to bend people to his will.

Hermione realized with a start that Tom Riddle's desire to be alone was the characteristic that would contribute the most to Riddle's transformation into Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord of her time enjoyed fear, and he saw any sort of attachment to another human being as a weakness. Obviously that belief, from what Hermione had observed, was embedded in him at Hogwarts, and it sparked some mild curiosity within her.

_What exactly makes you want to be alone, Tom Riddle? _

As she rounded a corner and spotted the current thorn in her side, Hermione decided to store her questions in one of her mental filing cabinets for the time being. Her intuition was telling her that Tom Riddle's solidarity was more important than she thought, but she would have to examine it later and focus on the task at hand: their Potions Project.

Currently, seventeen-year-old Voldemort had a heavy tome open and looked as if he was totally absorbed in the material.

Quickly deciding on a non-aggressive approach, Hermione pasted a small smile on her face, strode towards Riddle's table, promptly sat down in the seat across from him, and waited for him to acknowledge her….

And waited and waited and waited.

Even though Hermione could tell very quickly that Tom Riddle was ignoring her, she had recently decided that it would be in her best interest to have patience with the resident Head Boy. This change in attitude, though against Harry and Ron's search and destroy mindset, was surprisingly caused by an irate Draco Malfoy Rothschild, who overheard her getting overly snippy with Riddle in Arithmancy.

'_You can't strut around assuming that you know he wants to kill you,' he whispered harshly. 'That bastard wants to kill everyone, and he's restraining himself just fine for the time being; so quit thinking that your situation is unique and start following your own theories.'_

Hermione and Draco had this conversation in the Room of Requirements two days ago. Since they were the only two who could openly communicate with Riddle, they both decided to confer at least once a week about their progress. However, their first meeting took longer than intended because Draco complained about being able to crack the future Dark Lord's shell.

'_I'm really trying to stay patient. I really am. But I am a Malfoy. Malfoys do not wait, and neither does time actually. The more minutes we let slip, the closer we are to botching up the future,' Draco said in his usual haughty tone._

'_As of right now, you are a Rothschild,' Hermione reminded him, which earned her a dignified sneer from her counterpart. 'And, I have something that might be able to help you, but we can't let this slip to Harry and Ron.'_

_Draco looked at her incredulously. 'You are telling me something your other thirds don't know? Can you hold on to your thoughts for a minute, Hermione? I need to go visit hell and see if it froze over.'_

_Hermione wasn't laughing. 'Seriously, Draco. You can't allow them to know. These next words are based off of my theory, so if I'm wrong, I want the least amount of casualties as possible.'_

_Draco was serious now too. 'Alright. Go on.'_

_Hermione took a deep breath. 'My argument stems from the fact that assuming facts about Tom Riddle is wrong, and if you agree to my suggestion, you need to abide by it one hundred percent.'_

_Draco looked at her, intrigued. 'What exactly is your argument, Hermione?'_

'_I've been thinking we need to give Tom Riddle a clean slate,' she declared. She opened her mouth again to argue her point, but Draco interrupted her. _

'_You're right,' he agreed to Hermione's surprise. 'Forgetting that he's a raving lunatic will probably help us be open to the secrets we don't know about him. We should definitely try different communication tactics with him.' _

Despite this conversation, Hermione was having a hard time keeping her patience. As she snapped out of her daydream of her talk with Draco, she realized that, as she stared at the pale brunette boy in front of her, that he had ignored her for the entire length of her woolgathering.

Hermione, thinking his behavior strange, cleared her throat, justifying that maybe he was too engrossed in the material to notice her.

Riddle shifted in his seat but didn't acknowledge her.

Hermione cleared her throat louder this time, adding an edge to it to alert him to the fact that he was being rude.

Still no sign of acknowledgement.

Hermione started tapping her foot in frustration. There was no one in their little section of the library, so her throat clearing should have been enough to alert him of her presence. Therefore, Hermione deduced that he was clearly ignoring her; but Tom Psycho-Killer Voldemort Riddle, no matter how lethal he was, would not succeed in his endeavor. The terms of his clean slate still applying, she would treat him like she would anyone else that was ignoring her.

_Tom Riddle, I'm Hermione Granger for Merlin's sake. I am the very definition of annoyingly persistent._

With a Draco-like smirk, she started tapping her foot louder. She resorted to this tactic whenever the boys were too distracted to pay attention to her. Her tapping always worked, because she knew the exact rhythm and volume that grated on people's nerves; and everyone cracked eventually.

Yet, Hermione soon discovered that Tom Riddle seemed to be the exception to the rule.

After tapping her foot for five minutes, Hermione realized that he wasn't going to crack this way. Merlin, she was surprised that he was ignoring her in the first place. He never fully ignored her. Yes, he would pretend not to hear a comment or two, but there had never been a day since their Potions fiasco where he just didn't respond to her.

As Hermione surveyed her surroundings, trying to quell her rising awkwardness, she observed that she was very, very alone with the Hogwarts Head Boy. It became very apparent that Riddle had been extending his Public-Image-Voldemort persona towards her in school, where there was always one onlooker or bystander near them whenever they had to interact. Now, in a far corner of the library, there was no one, and Riddle seemed to be taking full advantage of it.

Needless to say, Hermione was confused.

Honestly, Tom Riddle's mood swings were going to be the death of her. He had taken three different attitudes with her in the past month, and Hermione had no idea which one was real, or even, if any of them were real. He was making it impossible for her to learn anything new about him, and she had a feeling that unless she found the right way to treat him, she would continue to hit this dead end with him.

Maybe if she switched to a more direct game plan? She doubted, from what she did know of him, that people ever spoke their mind around him. He was Head Boy, the proclaimed 'brightest wizard of his age,' and he already had a following. Those intimidating titles alone probably had people walking on eggshells around him, thinking themselves inferior.

_Fine, Riddle. I'll make it to where you're forced to talk to me. I'll be damned if you take all the credit for this project anyway._

"Is there an issue that you would like to discuss with me, Riddle?" Hermione drawled fearlessly in her best Draco impression.

The bushy-haired girl was sure that something inside of the evil bastard told him he couldn't ignore a direct question, and he looked up, his face completely blank.

"No," he responded coldly before lowering his head again.

"So, you do know that I'm here?" Hermione couldn't help but ask, crossing her arms in from of her chest.

"Yes, and if I didn't, that incessant tapping you did a few moments ago would have alerted me," he replied with a tinge of sarcasm.

Being a Gryffindor, Hermione had her fair share of tricks of how to stay calm in the presence of Slytherins. But this particular one was absolutely infuriating. Her first instinct was to throttle him, but she doubted that attacking him would produce the best results. Plus, Draco would _kill_ her.

_Alright, think Hermione. How can you steer this conversation into a more positive direction?_

In all honesty, after her epiphany earlier in the week, she decided that she only knew a few things about Tom Riddle. He was disgustingly arrogant, yet he was a good enough actor to hide his feelings of superiority when it suited him. He held great influence within the school because of his title and intellectual abilities; and he held hidden influences as well. She also knew the main story behind his past (from Harry's perspective), and she knew he was a Slytherin.

Slytherin. That explains a lot actually.

The House of Slytherin looked for particularly resourceful, self-sufficient individuals that weren't afraid to cut a couple of corners in order to get what he or she wants. Tom Riddle was all of those things, and it showed in the way he was communicating with her at the moment. He wanted to do the project by himself; he probably already had the potion he wanted to do in mind, and he refused to accept any help.

_Well then, I'm just going to have to force him to accept me_.

With nothing on her mind but provoking a reaction from him, Hermione attempted to take Tom Riddle's book from under his gaze. However, his reflexes were quicker than a snake's, and his hand quickly lashed out from under the table and took a firm hold of his book.

"You're quite the little book stealer, aren't you?" Riddle asked, letting a mix of a monotone yet accusatory tone drip through his voice.

Hermione's eyes narrowed, his comment invoking an overwhelming irritation in her that, for some reason, made her want to incite some sort of emotion with him. "The last time I checked, the book you are referring to is not yours. I've read it a couple of times, and I did not see Tom Riddle written or engraved anywhere. Secondly, the project you are so diligently working on is half mine. I will not let you take all of the credit for this assignment, so, despite the fact that you so obviously despise me, You. Are. Stuck. With. Me."

Breathless from her rant, Hermione's eyes focused on Riddle's face, intent to see his reaction. She had chanced showing him a small portion of her irritation in order to get some sort of reaction from him.

Instead, the Head Boy's eyes narrowed back at her, but the look in his eye was still stone cold. It's as if he was only showing her the amount of irritation necessary for the situation, but Hermione could tell he was hiding his actual thoughts. She really shouldn't have expected him to lash out at her. He was always keeping secrets, because secrets are what guard his Horcruxes.

_What are you thinking right now, Riddle?_

With a start, Hermione watched him raise his hand, and she instinctively recoiled, thinking he was going to slap her in retaliation for her words. Instead, without taking his eyes off of her, he put his hand on the book and slid it towards her.

Much later, Hermione would think her reaction to him was slightly ridiculous; but she couldn't help the fear he inspired in her. It's not that she felt he was going to kill her. Being on a mission, Hermione thought about the possibility of Riddle killing her from every angle, and she concluded that he wouldn't dare. The Death Eaters were still a secret society, and Hermione didn't know very many people at Hogwarts, so the school could create a very narrow list of suspects should someone decide they wanted to kill her. So even if killing her was on his agenda, now would not be the time to do it.

Instead, what scared her the most was his mood swings. Hermione knew enough about him to know how to not push his buttons, but she didn't know enough about him to manipulate him, which gave Riddle the upper hand. Sure, she had freedom of her actions, and if it were anyone else, Hermione would know that they would react to her in one way or another. Thus was the law of nature and science. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

However, Hermione had found the one person that was, again, the exception to a rule. Riddle was fifty-fifty as far as she was concerned. He would react sometimes, but other times, he would choose not to. And when he did react, it seemed like he was only putting in half an effort, as if he was only doing it because he had to. This particular quirk of his caused Hermione to wonder if his personality defect was because he was bottling up his emotion or because he lost parts of his soul.

She made a mental note to research the soul more intensively and see how exactly it affected the future Dark Lord.

Riddle, taking Hermione's lack of response as a sign of confusion, pointed to a heading on the top left page. "I've decided to do the Potion of Elysium."

Hermione fought with the very forces of nature to not verbally assault him. '_You would choose our Potions Project without asking me you prat.'_

Instead, she stared at him with a look she hoped conveyed mild curiosity. Tom Riddle simply stared back at her, waiting for her to react.

Hermione decided that complaining obviously wasn't going to help the situation. He was the brightest wizard of his age, and the Potion he picked was the hardest one to brew on the list Slughorn provided. Surely, just based on that fact alone, Hermione couldn't completely fault him, even if he was a high-handed prick.

With a resigned mental sigh, she skimmed over the details of the potion.

"We can't officially start brewing until mid-October," Hermione stated when she read over the potion ingredients.

"We could," Tom said, adopting the customary Slytherin bored tone, "but it wouldn't be as potent. Heather's prime blossoming time, after all, is--."

"Mid-October, I know," Hermione finished, cutting him off as she continued to skim.

If Riddle was put off by it, he obviously didn't show it. Instead, he just took his Potions book back and continued reading.

Hermione took advantage of his silence to contemplate his choice. Honestly, that Snake confused the hell out of her. Slughorn, by some ridiculous epiphany he had, told us to pick a Potion that defined the character of both Potions partners. Obviously, Riddle was bypassing that rule, because the Potion of Elysium did not describe either of them.

The purpose of the Potion was to provide the drinker with three years of pure, unparalleled, unfettered feelings of happiness. It was named after the Greek God Hades's domain – the underworld, a place that contained heaven, hell, and purgatory. In the myths, dead souls went to one of the three afterlife realms: Tartarus, Asphodel, or Elysium. The latter, the fields of Elysium, were meant for those who had accomplished heroic good deeds within their lifetime. Therefore, Elysium was meant to be the Greeks' version of heaven.

This Potion was meant to imitate what the inventor thought one would feel in heaven: happiness, pure and unadulterated. The defect of the Elysium potion was that it only provided happiness for three years, and once the Potion wore off, the emotions not experienced during those three years would resurface.

Hermione didn't personally agree with this Potion, because it created fake human emotion, and it didn't allow a person's character to grow. Grief is a part of life, and the Potion just stops a person from learning how to cope with life's hardships. It was for this exact reason that the Potion was outlawed in the 1960s. The Potion preventing people from dealing with their grief and anger eventually brought out an onslaught of negative emotions after the Potion wore off, causing hundreds of suicides.

Yet, despite the Potion's effects, Riddle picked a Potion that produced _happiness_. There were plenty of Potions – memory potions, special ability potions, potions that manipulated a persons mind – that he could have chosen, yet he chose one that emulated an emotion. Hermione knew exactly what Ron would say to that.

'_That lunatic only wants to inflict pain and misery. He probably thinks happiness is the synonym for muggle torture.'_

Befuddled by his choice, Hermione contemplated the merits of asking why he chose Elysium.

Truth be told, the mystery behind why Tom Riddle chose a happiness Potion made Hermione intensely curious. He knew the parameters of Slughorn's Project. He knew that he had to choose a Potion that appealed to both him and his partner on an emotional level. And, being the meticulous Head Boy/Dark Lord-in-the-making that he is, he had probably mulled over the Potion he was going to pick for days.

And he landed on this one?

Hermione weighed her options and decided that it wouldn't hurt to ask. During the war, she learned, above else, to trust her instincts when her heart and her mind were in conflict, and right now, her instincts were telling her she wasn't in any danger. Plus, her subtle, polite approach hadn't even begun to crack his exterior, so maybe a more direct tactic would work.

Looking at him curiously, Hermione asked, "Why this one?"

Tom Riddle gave a long sigh, and he addressed her as if he was talking to the slowest person on the planet. "It's the hardest one on the list."

Hermione eyes narrowed. She normally didn't push subjects with him, but this was her Potions project too, so, naturally, she felt she had a right to push. "Yes, I know, but you and I both know you're not Head Boy for nothing –" _That's right, Hermione. Slytherins love their egos_, "—and you've probably read the requirements for this project the same amount, if not more, than I have. Therefore, you must know that there's a small guideline that says this project has to be important to us. _Both_ of us."

"And this Potion is," Riddle said matter-of-factly.

Hermione was getting irritated. Somebody, despite his genius, obviously didn't understand the concept of teamwork.

"Well, since I'm your Potions partner, you should probably tell me how this Potion is important to you. Slughorn stressed that particular requirement after all," she declared with a hint of sternness in her voice.

There was a small pause. "It's important to me."

Hermione tried really hard not to huff in frustration. His behavior was getting old, and he couldn't even put whatever animosity or misgiving he had towards her aside for a school project. This, to Hermione's surprise, most certainly proved that he was not perfect, and it most certainly showed that he was still a temperamental adolescent just like everyone else.

The Gryffindor shook her head at the rouge thought.

_Oh course he's not like the rest of us. He's a killer._

Emboldened by his communication with her, she snatched his Potions book from under his gaze. She then gazed warily at him, waiting for his reaction again. Her motions caused him to snap his head up and stare at her calmly.

Hermione stared back incredulously. His actions were once again conflicting with his face. The snap of his head obviously indicated she surprised him in a negative way, but his face was, once again, aloof.

_Are you irritated with me or not Riddle?_

Feeling awkward and slightly off balanced from the Head Boy's peculiar behavior, Hermione began skimming the instructions for the Potion once more. She suspected that Riddle thought her brainless, because there was another copy of his book in the library, so she could have easily just read the instructions from the other one; but his mood swings had annoyed and confused her to the point of exasperation.

_How can you only know someone for three weeks and already be so exhausted by their very presence?_

Her nervousness caused her to not notice Riddle suddenly walk over to her side of the table and tower over her. He gently put a pale hand on the book Hermione ripped from his gaze and pulled it away from her, and Hermione let him. Instead, she looked up, her brain just registering he was looming next to her. He had that same cold look on his face, and Hermione noticed that his eyes were just as cold.

While staring back at her, Riddle closed the book and snatched it from the table, abruptly turned on his heels, and left.

Hermione was dumbfounded.

_What had just happened? One minute he's attempting to work with her, and the next, he just leaves without a word._

Deciding to bring it up to her other thirds in the common room, she made to get up, but a hand stopped her chair from moving backwards, making her fall back into it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of blonde materialize, and she immediately assumed it was Draco. But, as that flash of blonde took the seat Tom Riddle had recently vacated, she saw a different Malfoy's smirk.

Without preamble, he arrogantly introduced himself. "Abraxas Malfoy, at your service."

Hermione, not knowing what else to do, replied curtly, "Hermione Granger."

"Hermione, what an original name," he drawled.

At his mannerism, Hermione stiffened, her instincts now telling her that she should increase her guard. His voice reminded her more of Lucius than Draco, and for that reason, she subconsciously moved her hand to grab her wand.

Abraxas, noticing this gesture, tsked at her. "No need to get defensive, _Hermione_," He said in a deceitfully soothing voice, purposefully extending the syllables in her name. "I'm merely here to commend you on your duel with Rothschild the other day."

Straightening her posture, Hermione haughtily replied, "Thank you."

"You know," he whispered conspiratorially, leaning towards her, "I don't think Riddle likes you very much."

Hermione snorted in spite of herself, but then she quickly put her guard back up.

_What is he playing at?_

Abraxas raised a knowing eyebrow at her. "From your reaction, I think you agree."

Hermione didn't deign to comment.

Abraxas continued, pretending not to notice Hermione's less than friendly behavior towards him. "Yes, he is quite the loner, isn't he? It can't be helped. He's quite brilliant, you know?"

It was Hermione's turn to raise her eyebrow. Abraxas's behavior was just adding to her bizarre Slytherin encounters of the day. He was talking so casually about Riddle, and he wasn't giving any indication about whether or not he liked him. Hermione knew, since she didn't know the details of Abraxas's and Riddle's relationship, that she had to tread carefully. There was a slight possibility that Malfoy didn't like Tom right now. After all, following a halfblood, in a Malfoy's mind, was beneath him. However, more than likely, Malfoy was already a Death Eater, and he was carrying an order out right now.

She would have to ask Ron and Draco to keep closer tabs on him.

Realizing that Malfoy was waiting for an answer, Hermione gave the customary, "Yes, he is."

At that, Malfoy abruptly stood and pushed his chair under the table. He then smirked the way all Malfoys did and looked down his nose at Hermione mysteriously. "That is the reason why he's never had a Potions partner, or any classroom partner for that matter."

After his comment, he turned on his heel and left, leaving Hermione staring at his back completely dumbstruck. Did he just talk to her to volunteer information? Hermione highly doubted it, and she would have to double check and see if his words were true, but otherwise, his words about Tom Riddle…

Well they certainly explained a lot.

* * *

**Gryfifndor 7th Year Dormitory, 10:00 AM**

Hermione headed straight for her room after her encounter with "the evil bastard" and grandpa Malfoy. She certainly had a lot to think about.

For one, she knew how to best proceed with Riddle. She had to get inside his head as soon as possible, and being polite and non-confrontational wasn't working. He simply bypassed every attempt she made to make conversation with him. And Hermione couldn't very well start treating him like a friend, because then he might Avada her just for being confusing. No, the best way was to back him into a corner with direct questions and comments.

Furthermore, she discovered that she had to deliberately provoke him.

The only time he showed an inch of an emotion was when Hermione snatched his book away from him, both on the first day of school and today. Therefore, Tom Riddle unknowingly provided Hermione with an angle she could use. In the Gryffidor girl's mind, she had to understand _all_ of Tom Riddle, and that included his Dark Side. The only way she could achieve that, at the moment, is by pushing his buttons.

Sure, Harry, Ron, and Draco would disagree profusely, but they wouldn't deter her. Provoking the future Dark Lord could result in her death. However, Hermione reasoned that just being in the same school as the Heir of Slytherin was dangerous. She didn't need to be friends with him like Draco or Ron needed to be. She needed to be the risk taker, and she needed to be the one the provided the information on his character.

And really, he was asking to be provoked.

Thinking back on it, part of the reason she acted mildly impulsive with him is because he irked her. He was exactly what his name suggested – a riddle, a human anomaly. How could someone not _feel_? Every time they have to interact, Tom Riddle's emotions seemed as if they were making half-hearted efforts to react, but he shut them down before they even had a chance. He's still a teenager for Merlin's sake! His emotions should be in turmoil.

But then, he was a teenager with only five-sevenths of a soul.

Did that mean that his human emotions were gone? Lord Voldemort still felt without his soul – albeit his emotions ranged between rage and happiness from killing innocents – but he felt nonetheless. So, how much of his humanity did each Horcrux actually eliminate? Is Tom Riddle really so far gone that he can't feel?

Hermione would find out. She would have to, because the way to predict a person's actions was to know their mind and their soul. She would have to find out everything about Tom Riddle, even the parts she didn't want to know.

And she would start by deliberately provoking him. Hermione was aware that this probably wasn't the best way to go about her goal, but something had struck her when Riddle stared at her before leaving the library. She had been to confused to notice at the time, but thinking back on it, she couldn't say anything to him because he hadn't been polite, fake, monotonous Riddle in that split second.

Her instincts were telling her that, during that moment, there had been so much more to Riddle than just his cold façade. Something told her that the Potion of Elysium was important to him, so much more important than she knew.

With those thoughts, Hermione turned on her bed and glanced at her trunk carrying the Pensieve and the Midnight Memories – yet more pieces to the puzzle that is Tom Riddle.

_I really should try to look into those memories. _

Truth be told, Hermione had been avoiding them for stupid reasons. First, they reminded her of the world she knew and the world she left behind. Just thinking about the Midnight Memories made her want to curl up in a ball and cry for her parents, her friends, and the life she would never have. Also, she was scared of what the memories held. She knew that there was no book in the Hogwarts library, even in the Restricted Section, that would explain exactly what these memories were.

Sighing, she got up and went to her trunk, got the black box out, and retrieved the Pensieve and the memories. After recent events, she realized that she couldn't avoid this task anymore. Now that Snape had given her no excuse by providing her with her own Pensieve, she knew that not looking at the memories would be foolish of her.

Sighing, she cast a locking spell on the door and another charm that would prevent anyone from even walking up the staircase. Hermione then plopped down on her bed, took the top off of the bottle labeled "Memory #1" and poured it into the Pensieve.

What she saw surprised her.

There was a sort of fog rising from the midnight blue liquid, and Hermione immediately took out her wand to check and see if the memory contained any harmful spells or curses. After trying every monitoring spell she knew, she found that the memory didn't contain anything harmful.

_Well here's something else to confuse me. _

Still a little wary, Hermione slowly made to dunk her head in the Pensieve, but the mist stopped her. Suddenly, it grew in height, and before her eyes, Hermione saw it materialize into the figure of Dumbledore.

Hermione almost cried.

Just before her was the man that had guided and protected her, Harry, Ron, and the Order during the the Second War. She could see his gentle smile, his half moon spectacles, and his eccentric wizard hat and robes. His expression made her feel as if he knew that the time travelers needed him, and he knew that they were lost.

He waved, and she waved back, not caring that this was just an image created by magic.

"Miss Granger," he started, making Hermione want to cry anew, "I do not know when you are looking at this, but I know why. The fact that I am appearing in front of you is because something dire has happened to our world." His expression changed to a more serious one at this point, making Hermione lean in towards the image, fascinated. "I assigned you the task of seeing these memories, because I believe that you are the best candidate for the job. However, I knew that you would have questions that couldn't be answered without my help. So, I will explain everything I want you to know."

_Everything I want you to know, not everything I know, _Hermione thought wryly.

"Let's start with why the memory is a dark shade of blue. The memory is this color, Miss Granger, because it was forced from Voldemort's mind by dark magic. The details of how that happened aren't necessary. The only piece of information I can give you is that these memories are Tom Riddle's, not memories others had of him, like the ones I showed Harry. I just recently had them extracted from the Dark Lord's mind. I think you will find these memories important. However, there are things you will not understand, and you will need to fill in the blanks before moving on to the next memory."

_Seems like the only advice anyone can give us is to fill in the blanks_, she thought grumpily. _'And he had these recently extracted? That must mean that Dumbledore got these a couple of days before the final battle.'_

Dumbledore's expression lightened then, and Hermione knew the end was nearing. "Good luck Miss Granger. I'm confident that you will complete this task," and with that, the mist vanished, leaving just the Midnight Blue Memory.

Trying not to think of the many questions she still had and how the man who could answer them was in the world she left behind, she plunged her head in quickly.

What she found there was astonishing.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry for the cliffie, but this chapter is already super long as it is. **Thank you**, once again, for making it all the way to the bottom. I hope that this chapter was satisfactory. Now, I know readers get annoyed with this request, but, **please review! It lets me know that you're reading, and it also motivates me to update faster.** Anyways, thanks again, and I hope everyone is having a great Holiday!

**Note**: If you need a clarification of the concept behind the Potion of Elysium, I'll be happy to provide it, or you can google it, either way. The Greek Myth behind Elysium and the flower Tom and Hermione need to pick play a huge part in the story.

Also, please correct me on the pluralization of Helix if I need to be. I looked it up, and what I found was the word Helices, so just let me know.


	6. Illusions of Progress

A/N: So thank for everything reviewers! Coming up: an uncomfortable situation and a lot more interaction (well, more than they've been having) between Hermione and Riddle. **Also, don't be too disappointed by the memory. It's more important than you think.**

**Hints**: 1) There's a reason why Riddle is the way he is (strange, for lack of a better word) in this chapter...

2) Hermione's thoughts are only that...her thoughts. Some of her conclusions are faulty.

* * *

**Shout Outs:**

**Ashyia Francis Belladonna**: The way I view the lack of traumatic experiences is that Hermione and the gang are currently repressing them. They were just thrown back in time and forced, at a rapid pace, to get on with their lives and save the future. They will have flashbacks, eventually, but they will come when there are triggered. And thank you for telling me about my mistake. It was well appreciated. Also, thank you so much for your comments, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Aeris**: You actually motivated me to update sooner. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Mary:** Thank you for your compliment. I've never been complemented on my prose, so I'm amazingly grateful that you like it.

**Sonia**: Thank you for your compliment on my characterization of Tom. I was nervous at first, since the way he acts are mostly assumptions based on what JKR gave to us, but you helped assuage my fears a bit.

**DragonQuillz**: Your compliment was amazing! And thanks for the confirmation on the Helices.

**Patie**: In order to not reveal too much, I'm just going to say that Hermione doesn't understand even an ounce of Tom Riddle at the moment. But thank you so much for your compliment, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Everyone Else**: You guys are absolutely amazing! I'm so glad to have all of you as readers, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

**Monday, September 28, 1944, 5:00 PM**

"This can't be possible," Harry protested for the seventh time.

"Of course it can, mate. We all just saw it," said Ron, motioning towards the Pensieve.

Even though her other thirds were having this conversation for the third time in a row, Hermione didn't say a word, choosing, wisely, to let them settle on their own conclusion rather than forcing hers down their throats.

For the moment, at least.

The Golden Trio was currently in the Room of Requirements in the same setting Hermione usually conjures: a small, sparse room with a large oak table and four matching chairs.

Her intent for the meeting was to discuss the Midnight Memories, yet another magical conundrum they had to solve because the fate of the world was resting on their teenage shoulders. She had arranged it a week and two days after she had seen the first one. Some would say that Hermione should have informed her fellow Time Travelers immediately, but after seeing the memory, she had to re-evaluate her facts once again.

At first, Hermione left the Pensieve frustrated, feeling as if Dumbledore expected Harry, Ron, and her to unveil another well hidden secret. And Merlin help her, there better be a secret, because the first memory, one of the three that were the most crucial pieces of information they owned, seemed, at first, completely unremarkable. Hence why she was keeping her patience with her boys; she had gone through the same feelings on the emotional spectrum after her first view of the memories.

Hermione let a small, knowing smile appear on her lips when the boys looked at her, their facial expressions clearly saying 'What the bloody hell does this have anything to do with killing the bastard?'

"Look again boys," she urged.

The boys shot her confused expressions but obliged her nonetheless.

Hermione's smile widened, because she knew what they would find there. She herself was astonished by her epiphany after watching the memory through a second time. The significance of it suddenly clicked in Hermione's head, and she finally understood that Dumbledore had not given them the wrong pieces to the puzzle; instead, he had provided them with his typical genre of information – the kind that seemed random and useless but really had the power to change fate. Dumbledore, once again, had left them with power.

And power the time travelers had. Harry, Ron, and Draco, just like Hermione had a short time before them, would, because of this memory, truly understand the incredible influence they had over the true master of all creatures – time.

As Harry resurfaced, a thoughtful yet still slightly bemused expression on his face, Ron put his head in, and Hermione waited.

As Ron resurfaced, he looked at Hermione with a blank face. "Blimey, Hermione, I'm still lost."

Lucky for Ron, before a slightly irate Hermione could retort, the door burst open and allowed the Trio a full view of an even more irate Draco.

"I was in the middle of a very important endeavor when I received your missive," he announced, apparently too annoyed to accompany his comment with a characteristic pout. As he shut the door, the blonde shot a mild glare towards Hermione. "You know, you need to stop having so many meetings here. The evil bastard might get wind of this, and, since I'm easier to access than you three, my perfect bone structure would be the first to go."

"What exactly is the 'endeavor' of which you speak?" Ron asked suspiciously, stroking his chin in an overly thoughtful manner and looking at Draco as if to say 'since when have your 'endeavors' ever involved anything but the Dark Arts and hair products'.

"None of your business, Smith," Draco said curtly, which, to Ron and Harry, signified that he failed his so called 'endeavor.'

Harry, noticing Draco's strange manner and being the more understanding of Hermione's two best friends, smirked, realizing what else the blonde Slytherin would consider worthy of his time. "Don't tell me you were trying to talk up some girl."

"I am a Malfoy. I do not try to talk up anyone," Draco replied, his nose in the air.

"Well, if your 'not talking up anyone' didn't end up in snogging, it doesn't count mate," Ron added, giving Hermione his best 'just kidding' face, even though she knew perfectly well that he was most definitely _not_ kidding.

Harry, noticing the Slytherin was abnormally quiet, decided then to use his untapped wealth of perceptive ability. "You got rejected," he said in a dramatic stage whisper while a look of over-acted surprise graced his features.

"I did not --."

"I feel a strange sort of satisfaction right now," Harry sighed in awe. He then turned to a now extremely irate Draco. "Sorry, mate, but you were our arch nemesis for…forever really."

"Plus, the highest a Slytherin girl hit on my scale was a solid six, and I even think that's pushing it a bit," Ron added. "I wouldn't be too upset."

Hermione sighed, knowing that now was the best time to switch the subject. "We've had a lot of new developments lately, and this time is no different."

Draco took his regular seat, replacing his snobby expression with a serious one. "Did he kill someone?"

"No, thank Merlin," Hermione replied.

She then motioned for Ron, the last person to look at the first Midnight Memory, to push the Pensieve towards Draco. Ron complied with a grin and said, "Don't be too disappointed. If I were a raving lunatic, I would be much more exiting."

At his comment, Draco raised an eyebrow at Hermione, clearly warning her to have a good explanation for when he resurfaced, and promptly put his face into the Pensieve.

A couple of minutes later, Draco came back up with a look of understanding on his face.

And Hermione had never been so grateful for Draco Malfoy in her entire life.

"I can't believe you two aren't intelligent enough to understand this," he scoffed, looking genuinely disappointed that he had over-estimated their intelligence.

"Well then enlighten us," Harry urged, slightly irritated at the whole situation.

"Fine," Draco responded. "Let's review the events of the memory. Riddle walks into the library. He picks a table and sits down with a rather large book. He opens the book to the page that contains the instructions to the Potion of Elysium. He then takes out a quill and parchment, proceeds to underline the purpose of the potion, and he writes in the margin the word 'important'. Then, the memory shows various other times Tom Riddle worked on his Potion project."

At the conclusion of Draco's rehashing, Ron said, "With all due respect to Dumbledore, I don't understand why he would think this memory is particularly important. We just watched the future Dark Lord do his bloody homework."

"Well, I mean, what else is there to do when you have to wait a couple of years to slaughter thousands of people?" Harry asked.

"Form the Death Eaters," Ron quipped.

"You two are impossible," Hermione said, letting a frustrated sigh escape from her lips.

"Because, I don't understand why Dumbledore would --."

"Well, Ron, like I said --."

"Dumbledore is nothing if not meticulous. He provided us with everything he could to help us succeed. Therefore, this memory _must_ be important," Ron finished, in his best, if not slightly exaggerated Hermione impression.

Draco stared at Ron in wonder. "It amazes me how thick you can be. And you too, Potter. I'm surprised you haven't caught on yet."

"Me neither," Hermione muttered darkly.

"Just explain," Ron said tiredly, before Harry could jump in.

"Well, just think about it," Draco snapped, his patience running thin. "This is the memory from the Voldemort of our time, where Hermione definitely wasn't born in the 1940s, thank Merlin. Imagine how ghastly she would look at sixty."

The boys' face lit up at Draco's comment, and Hermione decided to let his insult go as a 'thanks for shedding some light on her other thirds' thank you.

_Of course, men are simple creatures. I should've just drawn pictures._

"So, assuming this memory is vastly more important than we know, Hermione just changed it. She might have even possibly changed the future," Harry said in wonder.

Hermione's stomach couldn't help but feel uneasy at the thought. Yes, the Time Travelers have been discussing the rules of time and what they can and can't do at all of their secret meetings. They were _very_ aware that they were altering the future. But, just _seeing_ that her very presence could possibly affect Tom Riddle's life, just observing it actually happen was daunting to say the least; especially since Hermione knew that she set off a completely different set of events all by herself.

"Alright, so Hermione changed the world. Nothing new there," Ron said, his tone business-like now that he understood the full magnitude of what they just saw. "What we need to figure out is what the bloody hell Dumbledore wants us to know about this memory."

"I should think that would be simple, too," Hermione said matter-of-factly.

"Well, it's not hard to guess which direction Dumbledore wants us to go," Harry said, finally using his logic. "First of all, I'm pretty sure Dumbledore didn't know that Hermione was going to be Voldemort's Potions partner. I think that whoever Dumbledore got to retrieve those memories – the most likely candidate being Snape – went with the instructions to get as many pivotal memories as he could. They are only meant to guide us and show us pieces of what we don't know. What and how we change Voldemort's life is left completely up to us."

"So what we need to do is look at the memory more specifically," Draco concluded. "We need to learn more about him, watch this memory and the other ones -- once we get to them -- and then see if we catch new occurences when we study them."

"And we need to look at this particular one in parts," Hermione added, her brain racing. "There's a reason why there are several scenes that depict him doing his project."

"His project," Draco murmured, his thoughts clearly on to something. "Alright, let's play Hermione's assumption game again. We know that Snakey McSnakeface is working on the same Potion in the memory than he is right now: the Potion of Elysium. My impeccable logic is telling me that we can assume that Slughorn's third requirement for this project is active both now and in the memory."

"Right," Ron said. "He did have the word 'important' written in the margin."

Harry had a thoughtful look on his face. "Hermione, didn't Riddle say that this project was important to him?"

Hermione thought before answering. "It's really hard to say. When I was sitting across from him in the library and he confessed that piece of information, part of me was too shocked to register how genuine he sounded. But, thinking back on it, he did sound a bit sincere. Slytherins are nothing if not self-serving, so I wouldn't doubt that he would be catering to his own wants."

"Hey, we Slytherins are not --."

"Oh, shut up, Draco. I'm just theorizing," Hermione said absently as her thoughts raced through her head. "But, then again, he could be lying both now and in the memory. He could just be brewing this Potion, because it is the hardest one on the list. This Potion is meant to make the drinker feel happy, and I think we all know that that particular goal is least prevalent in Tom Riddle's mind."

"Or he could be taking a Potions Master's approach," Draco added. "He could just be making the Potion for his private stores, so that he can save it for later use."

"But to what end?" Hermione countered. "I think we've all concluded that he has a use for this Potion, but for what? When Elysium wears off it can cause anything from deep depression to --." Hermione paused, her realization making her feel cold and terrified.

"Death," Harry finished for her. "He wants to kill with this Potion."

* * *

**Friday, October 2nd, 1944, 8:30 PM**

Finally finding time between her Potions project, her charms essay, and the massive amount of translations in ancient ruins, Hermione made her way to the library, praying to every entity she knew that a) no one would be in the Restricted Section and b) that her book was still there.

Hermione especially hoped there were no Prefects preying on mischievous time travelers with bushy hair and an agenda to fulfill. It was a Saturday, so a good amount of them would be at Quidditch practice or in their dormitories; but the others would be working on homework throughout the main library, so she had to be _extremely_ careful. From her Head Girl days, she knew how to access the Restricted Section without being detected; however, she didn't have permission to be there, and being caught without the approval of a school official merited punishment that Hermione could not afford to serve.

_Especially if my punishment is at the hands of a certain psychotic, egotistical Slytherin_, Hermione's thoughts grumbled as they usually did when she was breaking the rules and her conscience couldn't change anything about it.

Being true to the promises she made to herself earlier, Hermione managed to sneak into the Restricted Section to research the intricacies behind the soul. She should have done this her seventh year, when she first learned about the Horcruxes, but Harry, Ron, and her had been on the run, and she only had a limited amount of resources to choose from at the time.

But now that she had the chance, Hermione felt obligated, to herself and to everyone she loved, to be completely and utterly prepared for what was to come. There was no excuse. She had to know every single detail about Soul Magic so that there would be no more Voldemort. Forever.

Using the spell Madame Pince had kindly given her when she was studying for the OWLs, she opened the special lock to the restricted section. After closing the lock up again, she quickly cast a temporary Disillusionment Charm on herself and headed straight for the back corner. She was in such a hurry that she didn't even notice the aristocratic boy and his Potions partner lift their heads at the distinct sound of a magically opened lock.

It didn't take long for Hermione to arrive at her destination, and when she did, she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw _The Soul of a Wizard: The Properties and the Mysteries_ tucked in neatly on the bottom shelf.

She had luckily stumbled across the book, when she was browsing illegally the day before, that would aid the time travelers in their plight. Hermione had spent an hour fruitlessly searching at first, but then she remembered her own motto: the best books are always neglected. With new resolve, she changed course for the darkest, most obscure part of the Restricted Section, chanting her mantra and hoping to find something worthwhile before curfew.

And she had. But, curfew was upon her, and she had to grudgingly wait for the next day.

Now it was the next day, and to her frustration, her classes had kept her busy, leaving her only thirty minutes to absorb the information she needed.

As she arrived, it only took a quick perusal of the self, covered with cobwebs and reeking of musty pages, to find her target. Dusty but worn enough to show that it had once been well loved, _Soul of a Wizard_ jumped out at her, and she eagerly, yet tenderly, took it from its resting place, opened it, and flipped to the table of contents. Realizing she needed more light, Hermione took out her wand, which made her realize, to her consternation, that she needed to check the time as well.

Watching her wand conjure red numbers that illuminated in the darkness, Hermione huffed in annoyance. _There's just not enough time!_

Now, stressed beyond belief, Hermione sat Indian style on the floor and quickly, but delicately, flipped to a page she thought would be useful and started to skim for information. As she read deeper into the book, Hermione, like always, became unaware of her surrounding, too engrossed in a subject that had both interested her and plagued her for days.

This love for books, however, though an asset in the past, had unknowingly caused her to ignore the slight creek of the Restricted Section's ancient door and the two pairs of footsteps rapidly following the small light source shining at the end of the shelves.

After the first couple of pages, the book didn't disappoint, giving Hermione a beneficial, yet vague, paragraph that could help in the time travelers' mission.

_Wizards and Muggles alike have managed to give an adequate definition of the soul. This entities existence can affect us as equally as we can affect it. Our character, our decisions, our very nature originates from what some call the 'spiritual organ'. In reverse, if we choose to disregard the soul in its purist form, then it can become sullied or transformed by another entity known as free will. _

_This is fascinating, _Hermione sighed in her head, still not noticing the footsteps in rapid pursuit of their intruder.

_To understand this relationship, wizards have attempted to dissect the soul through complex acts of magic. Since it is not a physical organ, researchers have had to concentrate their magical energy on feeling, within them, the magical and humane properties radiating from the soul._

Hermione smiled happily, despite the fact that she was on a somewhat covert mission, excited that she was gaining new knowledge. Even though her life, to her mind's dismay, had been consumed with Voldemort, reading – even if the material did pertain to him – made her feel less crazy. Balanced. More herself. She was afraid that if she had a moment to herself where she could truly think about her life, she would realize that she truly didn't belong here. Books, she felt, are what saved her.

So much so that she didn't notice that the footsteps had finally reached her.

"Do you have permission to be back here?" asked Delaney Hunt, Hogwart's resident Head Girl from Ravenclaw House.

Hermione stared at her tall, slim figure. She estimated that if she were standing at her full height, she would barely pass Hunt's shoulder. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the semi-darkness of the restricted section, and her raven hair, a shade darker than Harry's, was pulled back into a tight ponytail, making her expression look older and much more severe than her age warranted.

Knowing that she absolutely_ cannot_ have her library privileges revoked, Hermione stood and stiffened her spine, prepared to use every conversational tactic in her arsenal to achieve her goal. Her first diversionary method: quick exit.

"I didn't know we needed permission. I'm sorry, I'll leave," Hermione assured with a hint of nervousness in her voice.

Hunt looked as if she had a ready retort, but a sardonic drawl spoke instead. "Delaney, darling, I have a feeling that she does know the Restricted Section policy."

Hermione scowled despite the awkwardness of the situation. _Curse everything that has the name Malfoy…except for Draco. _

Delaney looked at Hermione expectantly. "Is that true… um --?"

"Hermione," she finished absentmindedly, looking behind her for the white blonde male that had accompanied her.

True to Malfoy form, he was lurking in the corner with a smirk on his face. "And remember, dear, don't try to lie to the Head Girl, or there will be _dire_ consequences."

If Hermione hadn't done the Head Girl stint, she would probably be a little fearful; but, she knew everything about the position and its history from _Hogwarts: A History_, and she knew the worst Hunt could do was ban her from the Restricted Section for a month.

Hermione's scowl deepened, her irritation at the situation growing as she realized that Malfoy's threat was actually _very_ possible.

Hermione stood up, biding her time, and assessed the Head Girl in front of her. She had the authoritative look that was the staple facial expression of any Head Girl of Hogwarts. Raised eyebrow, snobby upturned nose, highly intelligent aura, immaculate uniform – she was an image of academic perfection. Fortunately for Hermione, she had been – or will be – that same image, and if she used her knowledge, she could probably get out of this bind.

"This…it couldn't wait," Hermione stumbled, mentally wincing at how insecure she sounded.

"What couldn't wait?" Hunt asked, and expectant look on her drastic features.

At the Head Girl's expression, the image that rudely marched into Hermione's head was, to her chagrin, Tom Riddle's, because she thought that the emotionless Head Boy should at least have the propensity to have a matching one. However, instead of twisting her expression into one of utter loathing, she turned it into a hesitant smile, her random thought of Tom Riddle sparking an idea in her head.

_What do you know? That snake actually helped me._

"Tom Riddle," Hermione said hesitantly while mentally wrestling with her stomach's urge to vomit.

Grandpa Malfoy's eyebrows shot, skepticism clearly etched on his aristocratic features, while Hunt's eyebrow, to Hermione's amusement and amazement (despite the seriousness of the situation), arched even more.

"Tom Riddle," the raven-haired girl repeated, clearly not believing her.

_Maybe I should clarify._

"What I mean to say," Hermione started, gaining confidence as she gained full control of her lying capabilities. She had to keep access to this place, no matter the cost. "The real reason why I'm here is because Riddle and I are Potions Partners, and I'm trying to pull my weight by doing some extra research."

Hermione smiled inwardly, proud of her performance. Of course, she was never an advocate of lying, but she made exceptions when it came to saving the ones she loves. The last time she made an exception was under the wand of Bellatrix Lestrange, but she actually considered this situation, even with the absence of the Cruciatus Curse, more important, because, without Tom Riddle, there would be no Bellatrix.

Her confidence was lost, however, when Malfoy scoffed and slowly walked toward her. "I have it on good authority, mudblood --."

"Don't call her that," Hunt had the good grace to snap.

Hermione glared at him, hiding her confusion, since he so freely called her by her given name the day before. There was a silver lining, however. Malfoy just revealed, unknowingly, that he had an agenda of his own.

Hermione tried not to combust at the thought, knowing that she permanently had to add him to the list of sub-mysteries she had to solve before uncovering the big one.

"Fine, Granger then," Malfoy said with a leer, advancing out of the shadows. "Anyway, I have it on good authority Granger, that you and Riddle are working on the Potion of Elysium. Do you confirm it?"

"Yes," Hermione replied tightly, now feeling absolutely livid at Grandpa ferret face. She imagined that if he wasn't here, she would have escaped unscathed. But when a Malfoy wanted something, he would do anything to get it, and his formal tone wasn't doing much to settle her nerves.

_I usually spoke that way before giving out detentions_.

"Then what, pray tell," he said, suddenly bending over and picking up her book, "does this have anything to do with a happiness Potion, hmm?" He then held up the book, taunting her with the full scope of her mistake.

Not giving up, Hermione gritted her teeth and replied, "You have to know about the soul to understand the scope of emotions."

"But Delaney and I are in your Potions class as well. You just need to brew a Potion. What in the world do you need background information for?" Malfoy asked innocently, a mild look of confusion wrinkling his otherwise flawless skin.

Her lying abilities exhausted in the space of a minute by the prat, Hermione decided on a last resort half-truth.

Even though her instincts told her she had lost.

_If I don't retain my ability to use the Restricted section, we'll have no resources left_.

"I just wanted to learn more. Elysium is so interesting, and it brought about many questions that could only be answered by the books in the Restricted Section," Hermione finished lamely. She took a sideways look at Hunt, and the terrible feeling in her stomach was confirmed.

The Head Girl looked resolute.

"Well, as admirable as you efforts are to our intellectual minds, I'm going to have to give you the proper punishment for your trespassing," Hunt said with no sympathy in her voice. "I'm going to inform Madame Hawking that your ability to access this part of the library are to be revoked for one month."

And, without warning, she turned on her heels and left to make good on her threat.

Hermione stood there and watched her leave, feeling a little numb, her gaze losing focus. To the Head Girl and Prefect Malfoy, her punishment seemed only minor; but to Hermione, it felt as if she had lost a lifeline. She knew, without a doubt, that she couldn't crack Tom Riddle without her only resource.

"And I thought you were clever," said a low voice.

Hermione vision snapped back into focus, and as she saw Abraxas Malfoy smirking, her anger made the decision to be completely upfront with him.

"What are you playing at?" Hermione snapped, not bothering to cover the fury in her eyes. There was no use in pretending that they weren't suspicious of each other.

"Nothing at all," Malfoy answered with that same innocent tone he used earlier. "I'm simply doing my job as a Prefect."

He advanced a step closer to her, and Hermione stepped back, now acutely aware of how alone they were. Knowing the Restricted Section like she did, the Gryffindor guessed that Delaney was probably almost at the exit, which gave the wizard in front of her ample time to curse her without anyone hearing a sound.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up, emphasizing the fact that she was in possible danger, and her wand hand ever so slowly reached for her wand pocket.

Malfoy smirked at her gesture.

"Now, there's no need for that," the blonde tsked, clearly amused at her panic. "I don't bite."

_Yes you do, you mysterious son of a b--._

"I just wanted to come over here and tell you that I'm not going to pry for the time being," he said with a smirk, revealing, to Hermione's horror, that he knew something about her as well. "And I also wanted to escort you out."

"How charming," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, making a mental to find out what Malfoy knows and how he knows it.

Instead of replying, Malfoy walked towards her again, and Hermione recoiled back again, her hand now fully gripped on her wand. Smirking wider at her antics, Malfoy simply side-stepped around her and muttered, "Indeed" before walking past her.

Hermione, knowing he wouldn't go far without her, since he just revoked her Restricted Section privileges, followed warily, one hand on her bag and another on her wand. She managed to make it to the entrance of the library unscathed and confused.

* * *

**Saturday, October 3rd, 1944, 7:30PM**

Determined to keep the promise she made to herself, Hermione marched to the library with a purposeful stride.

Gryffindor had the pitch right after dinner, and Slytherin after them, which meant that her boys would be too preoccupied for homework and Tom Riddle; but since Hermione was not on a Quidditch team, she decided to tackle both.

Well, to be more precise, Tom Riddle had grudgingly told her, in his usual overbearing manner, to meet him in the library after dinner to discuss their project. Surprised, Hermione had accepted quickly, satisfied that Riddle had finally realized that he couldn't' get rid of her.

Arriving at the library's double doors, Hermione swung them open and quickly headed to the table Riddle and her shared at their first meeting; but, as she rounded the corner, she spotted the Head Boy with his counterpart, Delaney Hunt, and she watched as he slipped some materials into his schoolbag before waving her off.

Her suspicions raised, Hermione walked towards the table and reclaimed the same seat she had occupied before.

Instead of taking out her books and parchment, Hermione clasped her hand together on the table and asked, "So what did you want to work on, Riddle?"

Knowing that they were alone, Riddle, once again, decided not to communicate with her, and started taking out his books as if she wasn't even there.

Hermione's eyes narrowed, annoyed at his behavior. "You can't possibly have asked me here to _watch_ you do our project."

Riddle ignored her again as he took out a small sheet of parchment and placed it on top of his books. He then turned them to where the spines were facing Hermione.

Being a Gryffindor, Hermione only reserved patience for slow, rude, or obnoxious Slytherins, not idiotic one, and her social maltreatment from Riddle had gone on long enough. With his position, his ability, and his secret society for cold-blooded killers, Hermione imagined that he rarely had anyone that willingly volunteered to reprimand him. If anything, he needed someone to be direct with him and put him in his place.

"You know," Hermione started, channeling the motherly, chastising voice she usually used for Ron "for being one of the figureheads of this school, you are really an immature individual. They say that you're the brightest wizard of your age, yet here you are, treating me three different ways in public and then giving me the silent treatment here. I would think that spending so much time in the library would have made you stumble across words like courtesy, teamwork, or personality, but I guess it hasn't been that kind to you."

Riddle had allowed a trace of amusement to appear on his lips during her rant, and it turned into a full-fledged smirk as he gazed towards his stack of books.

Hermione's natural inclination was to follow his gaze, and as her eyes skimmed the title's of his books, she noticed a very familiar title.

"Did you check that book out?" Hermione asked accusingly.

"It wasn't my intention," Tom Riddle replied, a cold, chilling, calculating look on his face, making Hermione think in horror that he had never looked so much like Voldemort until this very moment. "But Malfoy informed me of his little run in with you the other day, and I just _had_ to read it, since our interests are so similar."

Hermione tried not to guffaw at the complex sentence he just uttered to her. He had never spoken willingly to her, and his immediate ease at answering her question made her feel uneasy, as if her mistakes were about to come back and haunt her.

"I see," Hermione said while her brain calculated the best way to wrestle the book from him.

Hermione debated using her wand, but her mind tossed that idea out quickly. Grudgingly, her brain reminded her that as the future Dark Lord/ Heir of Slytherin/ someone who's unnaturally conceited, he had probably developed come quick reflexes over the years as well as spell knowledge, and Hermione didn't feel like setting the library on fire if that were the case. She also toyed with physically attacking him, but that idea was quickly tossed out as well. With Hermione's luck as of late, he probably just became a kung fu master over the summer.

Sighing at the only option she had left, she asked, "How long are you planning to have that book checked out?"

"Not long, if you intend to cooperate," he answered with a slight sternness in his voice, obviously indicating that there was actually no room for negotiation with him.

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "What does my cooperation entail?"

Riddle reached for _The Soul of a Wizard_ and the piece of parchment on top of the book stack and held both items up with his hands, looking for all the world as if he were a proper businessman. "If you give me _my_ book, I'll exchange this book and your permission to enter the Restricted Section again."

Hermione stared at the two items, enraged at how Riddle had backed her into a corner. "Madame Hawking had that parchment."

"I convinced her to let me be the judge of your library privileges," Riddle said in his customary bored tone.

Hermione, thinking quickly, decided to switch the subject so that her mind could have time to find a way out of her dilemma; and somehow she knew that he would keep talking, if only to negotiate his deal.

"You're talking an awful lot to me, Riddle," Hermione said with feigned confidence as she twisted her mouth to match his smirk.

Riddle's face remained expressionless as he said, "Believe me, Granger, it's not by choice."

Hermione openly grinned at his statement, silently congratulating herself on actually getting some sort of verbal confession out of him. Albeit, it was one of dislike, but it was progress nonetheless, and Hermione decided she liked this upfront method of hers.

Even if he was only reacting this way to obtain something he wants.

Hermione, slightly elated by her small success, decided that since he was surprisingly honest with her, she would be honest back. "Yes, I know anything involving me is not done by your own free will, but honestly, why are you getting your wand in a twist over a book?"

Riddle leaned towards her suddenly, a frown and glare taking the place of his attempt at a pleasant expression, and it caused Hermione to recoil slightly. As she stared into his eyes, her assessing of his emotions now second nature to her, she saw them flash, and she knew then that Tom Riddle, despite Hermione's recent thoughts as to the nature of his humanity, was indeed alive.

"You are only keeping that book out of spite," Tom Riddle accused, his face still expressionless and his voice in cold monotone, "and I am simply doing the same thing. Now, if you are as intelligent as you are rumored to be, your logic should be telling you, at this very moment, to make this exchange with me, because I know you spend a large quantity of your time here."

Even during his little speech, Hermione couldn't help but find some of his words suspicious. How did he know that the book he was keeping from her was important? She assumed that the best possible explanation was that Malfoy had informed him about her reading _The Soul of a Wizard_, and Tom Riddle had come to the conclusion that it was important to her. And Hermione, too busy trying to pry information out of Riddle, had forgotten to at least bait him with the possibility that the book wasn't that important to her.

And how was her reputation so developed that she already had a set stereotyped character trait? Yes, Hermione was aware of the stir she had caused this past month in her classes. After the Potions incident, her other professors had watched her carefully to see if Slughorn was correct about Hermione's brilliance. She didn't disappoint, and soon, Hermione was gaining some notoriety on an academic level. But, she didn't think that her brain was so recognized that the Heir of Slytherin would even bother to acknowledge it. Now, Riddle had just revealed that not only did he know he was possibly working with his intellectual equal, he knew that she shared his same propensity for research, which, Hermione realized, would make her interaction with him slightly different from here on out.

_Another slight success._

Thirdly, why was he all of the sudden rattling off large sentences to her. She had become so used to his manner that she thought he only communicated with her in short, abrupt sentences. Hermione had assumed that he was speaking that way to her because he doubted her intelligence, but now she knew differently. He just didn't like her. But now, despite that fact, he was having a watered-down argument with her. Yes, she understood, on the surface, that he was talking to her because he wanted to conduct an exchange with her; but, his behavior brought up new questions for Hermione. Why was he so volatile with people? Was it because he was already showing signs of his sociopathic future self? Was he doing it on purpose?

Or, Hermione was loath to think, was it because there was a tiny, itty-bitty, miniscule chance that Tom Riddle was socially awkward?

Hermione tried not to scoff at the thought and instead focused her energy on keeping the Head Boy talking until she found a way to take the book and parchment from him.

Knowing that he wouldn't answer, Hermione asked, "Tell me why you want _Soul Magic_ so much, and I'll hand it over."

Riddle pulled back into his chair, his back ramrod straight, which, to Hermione's unwanted amusement, was exactly as Draco had portrayed this gesture in his impressions. Her amusement faded, however, when, though he wasn't showing it, Hermione felt that he was more frustrated than he looked.

"You presume too much, Granger," Riddle said stiffly. "What I want from that book is my personal business."

_Looks like Riddle decided on the direct approach with her as well._

Hermione, despite the fact that Riddle was talking to her more than usual, which should have been warning enough of the danger in her situation, refused to be afraid of him. Pulling from her Gryffindor courage and Draco's mannerisms, she drawled, "What could that book contain that could make you show a modicum of emotion?"

Hermione stared into his eyes as she waited for his reaction. In vain, she attempted to read his thoughts again, but she was faced with the same obstacle: the separation of Riddle's physical being from his emotions. Yes, he was frustrated, and yes, he probably wanted to hex her back to the future, but his eyes, after his earlier slip, were devoid of anything. They were still simply there, like dirt in a dying field.

"Again," Riddle said with a bit more force, "It's none of your business."

Keeping on the direct route, Hermione switched the subject again. "Why must you persist with that mantra of yours? It's going to put our partnership through a long and painful ordeal if you don't accept me."

To Hermione's surprise, Tom Riddle's expression altered slightly at her words. It was a miniscule gesture, one that the normal Hogwarts student wouldn't notice, but since Hermione, in the past few weeks, had forced herself to memorize every plane of Tom Riddle's face for the sake of the future, she recognized it when it happened.

The movement appeared near his eyes. His eyebrows shifted slightly downward, just barely, while his brown orbs hardened into steely circles. Unlike what Hermione experienced with the hardening of his eyes by themselves, the shift in his eyebrows communicated another message entirely. It made Tom Riddle appear resolute and closed off as opposed to just closed off, and that combination caused a curious frown to appear on Hermione's face.

But, just as quickly, his features resumed their normal mask of nonchalance as he sighed and tonelessly threw out, "You should learn that the world doesn't offer acceptance. One has to earn it."

Hermione's analytical brain didn't allow her to huff in indignation at being lectured to by Lord Voldemort. Instead, the logical part of her mind raised her subconscious red flags, signaling that this particular part of her rare conversation with Riddle was majorly important.

Taking advantage of the awkward silence, Hermione took some time to analyze the sentence. What he said was quite serious, and Hermione was surprised at how a particular word choice had affected him more than the others she threw at him.

And, like a bolt of lightning, the true meaning behind his words flashed through her mind.

His comment, just thrown out of his mouth during their abnormal conversation, to Hermione's further delight, showed that Tom Riddle _wasn't_ entirely the statue he conveyed to the public and to her. She must remember that the Voldemort in her time was bitter with everything that had made him unhappy in his lifetime; muggles, blood, and love. According to Harry, that bitterness developed into a nasty obsession with revenge during his time at Hogwarts, which meant that now, right in front of her, he was hiding everything. Yet, he was a teenager with an inkling of humanity left, and his humanity, his frustration with his lot in life, was the key to reaching what Tom Riddle considered his weakness: his feelings.

This thought, this major break through, so early in the game made Hermione feel like she was truly changing the world for the better.

_So, Tom Riddle was not completely impenetrable after all._

Hermione mentally slapped herself for a) coming to this epiphany during the most inconvenient time and b) not understanding it sooner. There were cracks in Tom Riddle that he had revealed to her this past month, those that could be made wider if someone used the right drill.

Hermione had unwittingly done so, but, to her befuddlement, it had occurred when she had unintentionally brought up the subject of acceptance. His words, though carelessly tossed out, spoke of wisdom rather than mere observation – as if he was an expert on the subject. To any scholar on Tom Riddle's life, one would raise the objection that he was accepted. No one at school shunned him, and when someone spoke of him, they usually praised his brilliance or, from more feminine conversations, how incredibly dreamy he would be if he just lightened up a bit.

So what, in the bleeding name of all things magical, would Riddle truly know about acceptance? Surely he can't know that much, since he believes acceptance has to be earned. Who in the world gave him that idea?

_Once again, his actions don't match his words_, Hermione thought. _Merlin if he ever, in another alternate universe, decided to have children. Once they hit the smart aleck age/ I-want-to-go-to-a-rock-concert-without–you-so-I can-experiment age, they would never let him live down his hypocrisy._

Adding his comment to the already thick mental folder she kept of him, Hermione decided to continue sparring with him. If she played her cards right, she could gain the upper hand in the argument, shift the topic back to her ability to access the Restricted Section, and possibly not have to give _Soul Magic_ over to the evil bastard.

Hermione's conscience brought her back down to reality by telling her to only expect two out of three, but she pressed on with her hopes anyway.

"For your information, acceptance doesn't need to be earned; it should be given from the kindness of one's heart," Hermione disputed in a voice that was reminiscent of her eleven year old self.

"Touching, but if you think of acceptance in every possible situation, you would see that your argument is a generalization and not the case in reality," Tom countered, his otherwise bitter sentence spoken in his usual monotone.

At his quick sarcastic answer, Hermione grudgingly registered that Tom Riddle did indeed have a pulse, and he could carry on an actual conversation with her; he just chose not to. When she told Ron of this conversation, he would be disappointed about having to cross the possibility that the Heir of Slytherin was a decrepit vampire off of the list.

"Now, I must confess, I was waiting for you to tire of the book and bring it back, but I can see that you persist in this delinquency of yours, so I am now forcefully telling you, as your Head Boy, to give me the book," Riddle threatened, his voice the faux calm Slytherins over the years have adopted before they unleash their wrath.

Knowing, to her terror and disappointment that Riddle was eventually going to succeed in closing the conversation, Hermione knew she had to be the one to leave first to turn the argument in her favor.

Gathering up her bag, Hermione shortly said, "How about I get back to you on that the next time we meet for this project."

Not waiting for his answer, Hermione stood quickly and started heading out, but Riddle was too quick for her. She was too caught up in her flight to notice that the Head Boy had risen at the same time she had, and it only took him six purposeful strides to overcome her short ones, forcing Hermione to turn and face him.

As she watched him, her instincts told her to fear for herself. If Hermione hadn't been cornered by Riddle at that particular moment in time, she would have snorted when her gut told her to fear him. Why did she feel perfectly safe with him before? Why did she feel she had to fear him now?

To her horror, she realized that the obvious answer was that he possibly wanted to harm her now.

Putting on a strong front and brushing her fears to the back of her mind, Hermione held her chin up and asked, "Yes?"

"That book is mine," Riddle said in a low, stern voice. "I want it back, and if you don't, then your library, not just your Restricted Section, privileges are indefinitely revoked." And with that, he turned and stalked away from her.

Hermione stared at his back, more bemused than anything. To her immense relief, she had read her instincts wrong, and he had not attempted to harm her physically. She wished she knew why, despite being in situations where she was alone with him and knowing that he's killed, she had never felt like she was in danger. However, if he wasn't trying to harm her, than Hermione shouldn't question him. Acquiring physical or mental injuries while she was on a mission was first on her It Would Not Be Ideal If… list.

However, confiscated library privileges did hit a close second, meaning that her instincts had, in a roundabout way, been right after all.

* * *

**Same Day: 10:00PM**

"You've finally made progress," asked an abnormally giddy Harry, grinning one of his rare grins that reached his green eyes and caused them to crinkle on the side.

Hermione didn't find him amusing. "Harry, I have this sudden urge to permanently break your glasses."

"You'd better pay attention to her, mate. She is prone to violent, cavewoman-like tendencies," Ron said, his good humor present through his teasing.

"Hermione is not going to punch me for calling her bloody brilliant. A full conversation with Riddle," Harry said with awe. "Can you imagine having a full conversation with him and not throttling him? Well, can you?"

"Well, while we're on the topic, I would throttle him, throw him in the lake, call him names as he floated out, and hope the mermaids living there would have enough sense _not_ to save him," Ron answered passionately.

"Are you two forgetting about the details of the conversation? Yes, there were some abnormal occurrences, but other than that --."

Just then, someone burst through the door. The Trio turned sharply, all of them reaching for their wands with their rapid war-honed reflexes, ready to Stun and Obliviate whichever student unintentionally discovered their hiding place.

Instead, a distressed looking Draco ran in and slammed the door. He was suspiciously short of breath, and Hermione could swear she saw a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

"I thought Malfoys didn't sweat," Hermione greeted with her usual sarcastic comment.

"You three -- _cough_ -- need to -- _huff_ -- stop meeting in here," Draco said, ignoring Hermione's comment. "Too -- _huff_-- inaccessible."

"Isn't your physique supposed to be human perfection?" Harry said good-naturedly, trying to make the blonde Slytherin react like he usually does to one of his jibes.

Draco, instead, put his hands on his knees and bent over, trying to catch his breath, and, at the same time, Hermione felt a familiar sense of foreboding that usually accompanied a serious Draco Malfoy Rothschild. His complete disregard for their insults and the lack of a smirk meant that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

"What is it Draco?" Hermione asked softly, dreading his answer.

Draco looked up at her, and she saw a swirl of emotion she'd never seen in his ice blue eyes. He then straightened and leaned against the door as if he couldn't support himself on his own. His chest was still expanding and retracting at a rapid speed, and Hermione suspected that it was no longer from physical exertion. Yes, something was indeed wrong.

"Do you need to go to the Hospital Wing?" Ron asked warily.

Draco's eyes opened again at his question, sending a piercing gaze at Ron that caused him to lean away from him in his chair.

With a loud bang, Draco pushed himself off of the door and headed towards the large oak table. His face was now set determinedly, and as he placed his hands on the table and leaned towards the Trio, his eyes blazed with an unspoken anger.

Hermione held her breath, knowing Draco was ready to drop his bomb.

"We've failed," Draco said softly, chillingly.

"How so?" Hermione managed to breath.

Draco looked at Hermione with the same piercing gaze he gave Ron, and she steeled herself, waiting for the inevitable.

Draco's gaze turned harder and he said in the most haunting voice the Trio had ever heard from him, "He's killed. Tom Riddle has killed again."

* * *

**A/N**: Once again, thank you for making it to the bottom. Sorry to leave you another cliffie. Hope you enjoyed, and to show my appreciation for everyone who is reading and reviewing my story, I'm going to leave a chapter preview.

Preview:

"The killing wasn't supposed to happen," Hermione said miserably.

"Who says it's him?" Harry asked. "Who says he killed her?"

The other Time Travelers stared at Harry in shock, wondering what kind of knowledge made him actually defend Tom Riddle.

* * *

Preview 2:

"Have you made your choice?" Riddle asked, his voice deceivingly nonchalant. "My book or your books?"

"Yes," she replied matter-of-factly. "I have."


	7. Hermione and Her Conundrums

Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter.

* * *

**ANOUNCEMENT**: I need a beta reader. If you all want to edit or know someone who would like to edit my story, then please PM me. I'm looking for someone who will correct my faults but will still stay true to my writing style. Thank you.

And sorry for the reposting; I keep on forgetting that I can just replace the chapter.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry I haven't been able to update much lately. I'm in college now, but I try to get to this fic as often as I can. Sorry for the long wait. Thank you so much for your lovely reviews. You guys are truly amazing! I hope that this chapter is an enjoyable read for everyone.

**Warning**: I made a minor plot change, so disregard the previous chapter preview.

**Coming up**: An unexpected occurrence and a shift in the world.

* * *

Shout Outs:

**Moviesaremagic**: Thank you so much for your compliment. I know the grammar was a little rough last time, but, after your review, I fixed it. And hopefully my editing is a bit better this time around. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Riuet:** Amazing compliment! Glad you're enjoying the story so far. And I especially liked your last comment. I hope this chapter meets with your expectations.

**Nile:** I'm so happy you're enjoying my story. And you're right about the wordiness. It's my weakness as a writer, so I made it a point to improve a bit this chapter. Enjoy!

**4EvaInHim**: I'm glad your love for the pairing came back! And thank you so much for your other compliment as well!

**Lady de Winter 27:** Thank you so much for reading. I'm glad my plot appeals to you. I try to keep it interesting for everyone.

**Rmartin318**_:_ Your review made me laugh, in a good way of course. Glad you're enjoying it!

* * *

**October 14****th****, 1944, 2:00 PM, the lawn outside Hogwarts**

Roger Longbottom, Gryffindor Prefect, died near the Forbidden Forest at approximately 9:30 PM two Saturdays ago. His corpse was found pale white and perfectly at peace, his uniform immaculate with no signs of struggle – the signs of the Killing Curse.

The whole school had been in mourning for a week and a half. Roger had been well loved by the students at Hogwarts; he was genuinely nice, confident, and motivated, qualities that attracted both student and teachers alike.

And now, he was gone.

Today, while everyone took turns saying their goodbyes to Roger, several of the more perceptive onlookers noticed that the Trio, who had not known the Gryffindor Prefect well at all, was mourning his loss as if they had known him all of their lives. Those perceptive onlookers commented snidely under their breath on the indecency of the new students' fake mourning and over-acting.

What those onlookers didn't know is that, unlike the rest of the student population, whom were only shedding tears for one person, the Trio was shedding tears for two.

Roger, in a few years time, would have married a smart, pretty, and charming woman – the women who would eventually give birth to a beautiful baby boy. That baby would himself develop into a young, strapping Gryffindor and find a woman just like the mother he loved so dearly. The younger Longbottom's wife would also be blessed with a beautiful baby boy.

And that child would be named Neville.

Yes, if Roger was still alive, he would have continued the chain of events that would lead to the birth of one of the Trio's truest and closest friends. Now that he was murdered, the events that could have happened, _should_ have happened, were no longer possible, and the birth of Neville Longbottom could no longer exist.

If Hermione understood the rules of time correctly, she knew that, in going back in time, the Trio had torn the fabric of their Universe; and by doing that, they had created another. However, the new world is still intertwined with the old. And since the Trio had gone back in time as opposed to the future, then their actions will affect the old world, since, technically, the old world hasn't happened yet. Neville's death, therefore, would cost the Time Travelers younger selves dearly, as he had contributed greatly to one or two of the Trio's decisions.

So the world, as they know it, was finished. Now, the only way to truly guarantee the future peace was to kill Tom Riddle.

The Trio knew this, but they still wanted to take the time to shed tears for Roger, Neville, and everything else they had lost.

And they were so wrapped up in their mourning that they didn't notice the two determined figures briskly walking toward them.

Those figures belonged to Headmaster Dippet and the Head Boy. The former was walking with a hearty smile on his face while the latter followed with what could only be interpreted as a somber look. Those who were watching the Trio curiously also noticed this other disturbance in the sea of black and shamefully watched. Some were even hoping that the three Gryffindors would get reprimanded for their bad taste.

But little did they know, both of the powerful men only wanted Hermione.

"Miss Granger, will you follow me to my office," Dippet commanded without delay.

Hermione, her brain's gears shifting to overdrive at this strange request, threw Harry and Ron an 'I'll be fine look' and followed the men to the Headmaster's office. She couldn't help the feeling of uneasiness rising in her stomach.

_What do they want with me?_

Ten minutes later, when everyone was situated in the Headmaster's office, Hermione had already gone through several terrible scenarios on how this 'visit' could turn out badly, so she decided to just come right out and ask.

"Sir, what exactly am I doing here?" Hermione inquired, trying to channel Draco's Head Boy tone – confident and authoritative. There was no way she would let Riddle know that she had put herself in an illogical state of fear.

"You cut right to the point, just as Slughorn had warned me," Dippet chuckled, taking a sip of his tea as he observed her.

"Sir, I would like to know what's going on as well," Riddle asked, the very picture of innocence and manners.

_His acting skills are impeccable_, Hermione thought in disgust.

"Oh, how this school has raised the cream of the crop to have a wonderful thirst for knowledge," Dippet boasted, apparently deciding to take his time. There was a long pause, and just when Hermione thought she couldn't take this nonsense anymore, Dippet spoke again.

"I'm sure you're aware of the death of Roger Longbottom?" he asked.

_Of course not, sir_, Hermione wanted to blurt out. _Even after the Gryffindors created a remembrance for Roger and everyone has been crying about him for weeks, I still have absolutely no earthly idea._

Instead of voicing her sarcastic thoughts, she responded with a curt, "Yes."

"Well, as much as I am saddened to see him die – wonderful student that he was – I, as Headmaster of this institution, need to find a replacement for him," he said, suddenly eying Hermione with a curious stare.

_Did he bring me here to give him advice?_ Hermione asked, trying with all of her powers of self-restraint to not show her bewilderment.

"And, after a lot of thought, I have decided to name you Prefect," Dippet declared jovially, as if he had just announced a sure-fire way to solve world poverty.

Hermione's eyes bulged. "Why?" was all she could manage to say.

Really, what is this man thinking? Does he honestly think that my House and the school will accept me as a Prefect after I've only been here a month?

"Why ever not," was his jovial reply, completely oblivious to Hermione's discomfort. "You have the highest marks of the year, beating out any other of our candidate's records immeasurably, without contest. Your home-school records on your marks and behavior back up your performance at Hogwarts. In my eyes, you are the very definition of a Prefect."

Hermione found that she was completely not surprised when Tom Riddle's innocent, inquiring voice penetrated the awkward silence that followed Dippet's statement. "Sir, I say this with no offence to Hermione--."

_Oh, so it's Hermione now, is it?_

"—but she's only been here a month. Wouldn't this be unfair to the other students?"

Hermione braved a sideways look at him, and she saw a genuine concerned look on his face.

She tried not to vomit at his disgusting display.

Looking back at the Headmaster to keep her stomach in check, she saw a sly smile on his face, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that Dippet was immensely happy with whatever argument he had come up with.

He put his teacup down and folded his hands over his desk, his smile only broadening as he looked at his Head Boy. "That is why I have brought you here Tom."

Hermione cast another sidelong glance at him and saw that Riddle had raised his eyebrows. For being so inhumane, he certainly had human reactions down pact.

"You see," Dippet continued, "I would ask Delaney, but to be frank, you have slightly more influence than her at Hogwarts. Therefore, once Hermione is a Prefect, it'll be your responsibility to oversee her achievements and failures within the leadership and with her peers."

After the Headmaster's comments, Hermione finally decided she had had enough. She knew the rules of the Hogwarts hierarchy like that back of her hand, and becoming a Prefect had always been a two way street. She would have to agree; and if Lord Voldemort was going to be her babysitter, than she would rather live in mediocrity for the rest of her life.

Mustering her calm and collected voice, Hermione innocently asked, "I would have to agree to this, wouldn't I, Headmaster?"

Dippet's smile fell a little at her question. He obviously didn't expect her to know that. "Of course, my dear."

Hermione's sat up in her chair, trying to make herself look more stern. "Well then, Headmaster, I would like to respectfully decline your offer. Riddle is right. Give it to the students who have been here and have worked hard for the spot."

"None of them --."

"If I may, Professor," Riddle interjected, his voice sterner now. "Her skill and intellect have nothing to do with it. Her being a Prefect is unfair."

Dippet, knowing he had been trapped, looked from one know-it-all student to the next and sighed. "Very well."

Hermione, glad she had escaped this potentially disastrous situation, rose from her chair and made to leave. She was almost to the door, when the Headmaster's sly voice cut through her relief.

"I'll give you two weeks to change your mind."

Hermione frowned as she walked out of the door.

_Believe me, Headmaster, there's no way in Merlin I'll agree to this_.

* * *

**Same day, 9:00 PM, Room of Requirements, same layout**

"Why would you blow a perfectly good opportunity like that?" Draco asked, intensely frustrated at the busy-haired girl sitting across from him.

"Because, unlike you, Draco, I will not sacrifice my morals or my _life_ to be a Hogwarts Prefect," Hermione retorted through gritted teeth.

The blonde Slytherin had been berating her for the better part of ten minutes, and if he didn't stop, Hermione wasn't sure if she could control the actions of her fist.

"Really, because, after knowing you for a good part of my life, I would think that you would have jumped out of your knickers to be a Prefect again," Ron muttered, not too happy with her either.

Or, she could just accidently miss Draco and knick Ron instead.

"Oh, stop giving her a hard time. It's bad enough we were all thrown back in time and expected to adapt without any preparation whatsoever. You can't expect Hermione to feel even more out of place by alienating her whole house," Harry said, placing a soothing hand on her back.

Oh, thank dear sweet Merlin for Harry Potter.

Instinctually, Hermione knew that Harry was the only one who understood how she was feeling right now. Lately, as the rush of first appearing in this decade died down, Hermione began to see just how much she didn't belong here. She noticed when little things happened, like when the girls in her dormitory used expressions she didn't know or when the boys played games that were considered out of style in her decade. And then there were the big things, like the old technology and the fact that she never saw Ginny Weasley…

"To hell with that," Draco growled. "She is on a mission."

"Exactly," Hermione snapped back, her patience being stretched again. "And it won't do to just throw myself into Tom Riddle's schedule after he has just killed a Gryffindor Prefect. There are other ways."

"The other ways are too slow," Ron argued, showing some of his Weasley temper. "We're barely getting anywhere. You have to fight with him all of the time, Draco can't find a way to be his friend, and there's no way in hell he'll ever let me approach him during a Death Eater meeting with my current rank."

Hermione gritted her teeth again. Even though she just wanted to strangle her short-tempered best friend, she made allowances for him and Draco because she knew that this decade was wearing on them, too. Now that their lives have fallen into a sort of schedule, they've had time to truly think about the fact that they can't go back to their time. They'll never see their family and friends, and they'll never see their homes ever again.

And, it had slowly started to kill them.

"And the meetings he's going to have no substance to them. Riddle is being secretive. Not even his inner circle knows what he's planning. We need to catch him off guard." He then turned to the bewildered brunette across from him and stared intensely at her. "The only chance to get to him is you, Hermione. Find a way to ask him. You're a Gryffindor. You're not supposed to have much common sense when it some to this being brave shit," Draco said, his voice law.

"We don't know enough about his temperament for me to just be thrown deeper into his life," Hermione argued forcefully, hating how she was being treated. She never asked for this. She never wanted to be in this position with Tom Riddle.

"Well, Hermione, this is a good way to find out," Ron said, giving her a long, meaningful glare.

"No. I'm not going to change history any more than it has. The killing wasn't supposed to happen," Hermione said miserably.

The group paused, contemplating Hermione's statement; and the questions they have been asking themselves for these past two months resurfaced in their heads. Are we ruining the future? How many rules of time are we violating? What if we can go back to the future? Will it even be worth it? Will it even be recognizable?

And then, Harry surprised them all.

"Who says it's him?" Harry asked, his face thoughtful. "Who says he killed him?"

They other Time Travelers stared at him in shock, wondering what kind of knowledge he possessed that made him feel the need to actually defend Tom Riddle.

"Harry, WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU SAYING?" Ron blurted, clearly convinced that his best friend, who has spent his life trying not to be brutally killed by Riddle, was clearly under the Imperius.

"Ditto," Draco said, looking at Harry as if he were infectious.

Harry locked eyes with Ron. "I've been thinking about the Death Eater meetings."

"Yeah," Ron said, clearly exasperated, "and it's the same garbage. We're all going to take over the world with scary Dark Magic…"

"Oh, shut up, mate," Harry snapped, tired of Ron's attitude. "You've told me a lot, believe it or not. You just haven't sat down and thought about how potentially helpful your information is."

Hermione looked at her other thirds, feeling beyond annoyed. "Before I say this, I just want to say that I love you both," she prefaced before she let her fury surface. "But, since the mission has unpredictably shifted on _mine_ and Draco's shoulders, shouldn't you, _Ronald_, keep us more i_nformed _on the events happening in you delusional maniac meetings?"

Ron, knowing that not saying the right thing could result in Hermione chastising him for the better part of the week, gave her a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry Hermione, but I really haven't heard anything at these meetings other than the usual motivational 'death-to-the-muggles' talks. I was just as clueless to Roger's murder as you were."

"He was Hermione," Harry implored. "I've just been doing a lot of thinking, and I've discovered another missing link in the chain."

"Potter is using his deductive reasoning skills," Draco said intrigued, while leaning back in his chair and raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "My, my, we really are changing the future."

Harry was most definitely not amused. "This is important."

"Well, then, by all means. Do go on," Draco drawled with a gesture of his hand.

Harry rolled his eyes and then shifted his focus back to Ron. "You remember the meeting you had last week? The one where Riddle threatened disciplinary measures to anyone who got caught being in his 'exclusive club' by a Hogwarts official?" Harry asked intently.

"Yeah, but I don't see how that will help, mate," Ron replied. "I don't think Riddle applied that rule to himself, since he "founded" his "club.""

"You're right," Harry agreed. "But you just had an emergency meeting two nights ago."

Ron's face contorted in confusion. "Yeah, what about it?"

"Oh think about it, Ron," Draco sighed. "The Death Eaters are a secret society. An emergency meeting should have raised your red flags undoubtedly, no matter how thick you are."

"Stop it, Draco," Hermione reprimanded, forgetting her anger at being left out for her intrigue in the conversation. "Go ahead, Harry."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Ron," Harry said, now leaning forward, his arms folded over one another on the table. "Right, well, as Ron was describing the meeting, something that Riddle said towards the middle didn't seem right. He said 'Killing is not the way to immortality'."

Hermione's curiosity fell a little bit. "That can be interpreted in many different ways."

"I know, Hermione, let me finish and give more credit than that," Harry said affectionately, knowing her brain couldn't help but calculate every angle of the situation. "Anyway, I told Ron to describe the meeting for me again, because that particular phrase could have been confirmation for our suspicions."

"Oh, right," agreed Ron, his mind finally realizing what Harry was getting at. "You think that he must have known?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed.

"Known what?" Draco asked annoyed, his impatient nature starting to show.

"Harry is suggesting that the meeting, somewhat subtly, was Riddle's way of warning us Death Eaters," Ron replied, not fully confident about his grasp on the situation. "Thinking back on the conversation I had with Harry, I think what he's getting at is that Riddle knew that someone else was trying to kill Roger."

Hermione couldn't help her eyes from widening in shock. "Go on."

"I can't remember word for word," Ron warned, sending a please-don't-hex-me gaze at Hermione, "but from what I remember, he said 'Our plans are extraordinary – something that the Wizarding World has never dared to explore; but these plans cannot evolve into fruition if we do not watch ourselves and our actions. Killing is not the way to immortality, my fellow Death Eaters. Survival is the only key to eternal life.'"

"What the hell is Riddle on?" Draco exclaimed. "It's one thing to be killer, but being indecisive about it is just downright annoying."

Hermione felt a little more hopeful than the blonde Slytherin. "So, would it be too much to assume that there was dissension in the ranks?"

Harry smiled. "No, but we still can't rule Riddle out. Just like Draco said, the Dark Lord sometimes doesn't follow his own rules."

"But, this is good right?" Hermione persisted, her chest, for the first time in a long time, filling with hope. "It's good that we're getting some sort of tentative confirmation about our hunches."

"Yeah, and those words certainly sound like the Dark Lord," Draco said thoughtfully. "All hot and bothered over immortality. You were right, Ron. This is definitely a big deal."

Ron smiled and looked at Hermione. "See, Hermione? Now you don't have to be scared."

"About him killing me? No, I think I'll stick to being scared," Hermione replied sarcastically.

"Well, don't you have to go to the Forbidden Forest with him next week for your Potions Project?" Ron asked.

Hermione's heart dropped to her stomach. "Yeah, I suppose I have to."

"We can always follow under the cloak," Harry offered gallantly.

"I'll think about it, but right now, I'm too nervous about the Prefect situation and my possible revocation of my library privileges," Hermione answered honestly.

"Have you decided what you're going to do about both?" Draco asked, sending her a meaningful look, warning her to tread carefully.

"No to the Prefect question, and yes to the books," Hermione replied sternly, asking her friends not to push her on the matter. Despite the fact that they were all in this together, Hermione knew for a fact that they could not advise her on this. At the beginning, not so long ago, she would have definitely asked the other Time Travelers for help, but now, Hermione felt that each of their parts in this mission were so specialized that they were basically running their own operations.

And even though this scared Hermione – how isolated their goals were becoming – she knew it was the only way.

* * *

**Same day, 10:18 PM**

After leaving, Hermione felt too exasperated and confused to sleep; so, despite the dangers, she briskly walked to her sanctuary: the library. As her footsteps lightly echoed in the hallway, her mind was telling her two things: 1) She was crazy. Her Restricted Section privileges were basically gone. Now she was risking a month's detention. And 2) This would probably be the last time she could access the Restricted Section for a while. No one was awake. And, after a very intelligent suggestion from Harry and Draco, she had memorized the Prefects' rounds schedule and routes.

She had to take this opportunity. The Midnight Memory she witnessed two weeks ago weighed heavily in the back of her mind. She had to solve the mystery behind Riddle's soul and his obsession with the Potion of Elysium. Hermione knew that those two conundrums, along with the emergency Death Eater meeting, were all interconnected pieces that would help solve the Memory. And she couldn't move on to the second until she solved the first.

Therefore, she needed the Restricted Section.

And, she couldn't let herself dwell on Roger's death. If she stopped now, if she relaxed, she her emotions would take over.

And emotions had no place in war.

Riddle's quote at the Death Eater meeting sparked something in Hermione's mind. From snippets of different Order members' experience with the Dark Lord – especially Snape – Hermione concluded that Voldemort liked to quote passages from influential books. Her former Potions Master – when he had been lucky enough to ask the Dark Lord a question without being Crucio-ed – received several wise book quotes from him.

And, if Tom Riddle still had that habit here at Hogwarts, than he had inadvertently connected himself to a book – either one in his possession, one in the library, or the one that Hermione was holding hostage. And, since her mind was screaming for reading material, she might as well infiltrate the Restricted Section again.

Spotting the last corner before reaching the library, Hermione pace quickened. Though her heart was pounding, a smile graced her face, like it always did before entering her favorite place in Hogwarts. She was almost there….almost……almost….

"It's after hours, Granger," a cynical baritone reprimanded from behind her.

Tom Riddle.

At his voice, Hermione's spine stiffened and the hairs on the back of her neck stood in alarm. Her analytical brain was telling her that there were no people around, and it was just her and Tom Riddle.

Alone.

If he wanted to, he could curse her dead, and no one would see him do it.

_What's he doing awake? He's not scheduled to patrol today!_

Summoning her Gryffindor courage and shoving that thought out of her mind, Hermione turned to face him. Her mind whispered to her to calm down. She had been alone with him numerous times, and she was still alive. Forcing a shallow smile to appear on her lips while inwardly chanting '_he won't hurt me, he won't hurt me, he won't hurt me'_, Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"I couldn't sleep."

Though his face remained emotionless, Hermione got the feeling that he wasn't buying it. As she slowly tried to inch towards the library, he started to stalk towards her, the moonlight giving his pale skin an ethereal glow. "I'm afraid that's not an excuse," he said authoritatively.

Fighting off her flight instinct, Hermione's mind raced to find a plausible explanation. _Because, it just won't do if you say, hey, I'm just going to the library to find a way to kill you. I promise I'll go straight to bed afterward._

"Uh…I…I," she stuttered, mentally cringing at her blunder.

Riddle continued slowly walking towards her. "Yes? Before I deduct House Points."

_Oh, no you won't._

"Our Potions project," Hermione said resolutely, hoping her words sounded like they contained a modicum of truth in them.

_I really need to get some lying lessons from Draco._

Riddle stopped a few feet in front of her, his facial features still frozen in an unreadable expression. Hermione, thinking that she was either going to die or receive a month's worth of detention, didn't anticipate his next move.

"Well, then I think it's best that I accompany you, since I am your Potions partner."

Hermione, at his suggestion, didn't know if she should a) Curse him b) fear for her life c) curse him then fear for her life d) head back to her Common Room and just try again tomorrow or e) risk allowing him to come.

Being the exceptional test taker that she was, Hermione quickly thought of which option would be best for her cause and assessed the risks. The first three were derived from her flight-or-flight instinct; therefore, those options were logically irrational. If she looked at her past situations with Tom Riddle, she still had no reason to fear him. Her wariness was mostly based off of the future Lord Voldemort and the intelligence she was receiving from Draco and Ron. Yet, Harry had made a good point. Events that hadn't originally happened in their time were manifesting because of the time traveler's intervention. They had to be unbiased and rational in their accusations toward Riddle. Otherwise, they would never figure out how to complete their mission.

Option D wasn't a viable option as well. Tom Riddle held the deed to her only trustworthy resource. If she tried again tomorrow, she would have to try again at night. The future Dark Lord's official patrol was tomorrow, and, her gifts for stealthy operations aside, Hermione was not about to risk Harry's invisibility cloak falling into the hands of his arch nemesis.

Therefore, Option E was her only option. Most of the books they needed were in the Restricted Section, and she figured she could attempt to let the Head Boy allow her to go for 'the good of the project'. If that plan succeeded, then, one inside the Restricted Section, she would try to pinpoint the section with the most possible options and have one of her boys finish the job.

_So, Option E it is._

"Fine," Hermione agreed in what she hoped was a pleasant voice. She stepped aside and motioned for her counterpart to take the lead. _There is no way I am turning my back on you for a second, Lord Voldemort_.

As they arrived in the Hogwarts library, Riddle, to Hermione's great and utter surprise, headed straight for the Restricted Section, not even turning his back to see if Hermione followed.

Hermione hesitated, feeling suspicious towards his actions.

The Dark Lord never did anything without a purpose, and if Hermione had learned anything, she had found that Tom Riddle didn't either. Once again, Hermione felt her most familiar fear – the fear for her life. But, as her heart pounded erratically, her mind once again urged her to relax. Missions required a certain amount of risk taking. This was a great and unexpected opportunity. The Head Boy was supposedly trying to keep a low profile, according to Ron. He has also made no attempt on her life yet, and she couldn't logically, despite all the evidence stacked against him, assume that Tom Riddle had killed Roger Longbottom. And, her skill in Defense Against the Dark Arts was exceptional. Despite the risk, she would probably leave her situation unscathed.

Plus, he could legitimately want to work on the project; but Hermione highly doubted it. Riddle only put himself in her presence when he absolutely had to be or when he wanted something.

_What else would he want from me?_

The Gryffindor in her growled for her to follow him and make it extremely difficult to obtain whatever the hell he's seeking.

Hermione, her courage renewed, steeled herself and followed him, determined not to go down without a fight. If everything they knew was true, and if his past behavior was anything to go on, Hermione would not die tonight. And her gut and her mind were willing her to take the risk. She could tell lately, now that the Time Travelers were sufficiently settled, that this universe was wearing on them. Ron's temper had started flaring more often, Harry felt restless and depressed at times, and Draco sometimes reverted back to his snider, eleven-year-old attitude. These differences were slight, but it showed Hermione that her boys were starting to feel how much they didn't belong here, and it was killing her.

_We need to take risks, or we'll never get anything done._

The brunette lit her wand and quickly found her Potions Partner perusing the shelf on advanced Potions, and Hermione decided it would be best to do the same before she continued to research Riddle's demise.

As she began skimming the shelf across from him, the air between Hermione and her Potions partner hung thick. There was tension there, and, coupled with two months of tirelessly studying him, her gut's assumptions were reaffirmed.

Tom Riddle wanted something. The air was practically crackling with that fact.

After five minutes of half-hearted searching, Hermione had to commend the Heir of Slytherin on his penchant for not wasting time. "So have you decided yet?" he drawled, not bothering to hide his interest. "My books or your books?"

The brunette became slightly off-balance at his blunt question. She had expected him to ask eventually, but not here, and not now. Yes, she had made a decision, but she had wanted to be prepared to bargain with him.

Hermione frowned, not liking the situation. "Yes," she replied. "I have."

"Oh," he said, as if they were talking about the weather. "And?"

Hermione took a deep breath, knowing that her boys would strangle her for her decision. "I'll make the exchange."

She then took a quick look at Riddle, and she saw, even through the dim light of his wand, that he didn't even have the good grace to smirk. His face was still a mask, as always. "I knew you would come to your senses."

_I didn't have a choice now, did I?_ Hermione thought bitterly. He had backed her into a corner, and her experience with war had allowed her to know when she had to evaluate her opportunity costs. She had to give up her leverage on him, which killed her; but, in exchange, she received access to the Restricted Section and less strain on their partnership.

After her previous encounter with Riddle and Dippet earlier that day, her emotional trauma over the loss of Neville, and her other opportunities, Hermione decided that she had enough cards left in her hands to part with the book temporarily. Later, the Time Travelers would find a way to get it back, but now, she had to sacrifice in order to gain.

"It's not like you gave me a choice," Hermione said honestly, knowing that he responded more when she was direct with him.

"I only forced you to make the right one," he replied simply.

Arrogant prat.

Hermione rolled her eyes and went to "look" in the aisle next to them. Hopefully, if she was stealthy enough, she could manage to slowly get away from him.

To her dismay, his voice floated over the shelf separating them. "Don't forget about our appointment next week."

The Gryffindor, who by then, had tried to tiptoe to another aisle, had to fight all of the forces of nature to keep from stomping her foot like a child.

_Now he wants to talk to me…Brilliant._

Judging from the past couple of weeks, Hermione never thought she would be able to witness a talkative Tom Riddle. Yes, he had spoken to her more often when he began to get more desperate for his book, but Hermione had subconsciously acknowledged that that inconsistency would stop after she gave it up. The fact that he was still talking to her meant that he wanted something else, and whatever it was, the answer was no.

_I have to make it clear that I do not want to talk, or else he'll be able to use my voice to track me._

"Yes, midnight at the Great Hall staircase," Hermione replied in a clipped tone.

She, again, attempted to walk over to the next aisle, but his voice stopped her. "I'm curious, Granger. Have you decided on being a Prefect?"

_Merlin, he's going to be the death of me._

Hermione winced at her thought and answered as nonchalantly as she could. "No, I haven't. Although, I'm leaning towards a no."

In retrospect, Hermione thought that maybe she shouldn't have volunteered information, but, as she has recently discovered, slight honesty with Tom Riddle was the best policy.

Her theory was proven correct when he said, in his signature monotone, "I think you should accept."

Hermione's lungs burned as she restrained herself from screaming _'What is wrong with you? Has all that dark magic made you completely daft?_'

This behavior that he had decided to spring on her – this talkative, curious Tom Riddle – had only appeared one other time in Hermione's memory. It had happened in another world, where the Heir of Slytherin was slyly asking Slughorn, his supposed favorite professor, about Horcruxes. And, since she doubted that his attitude towards her had changed, Hermione could only conclude that he wanted something from her.

Again.

After a ridiculously awkward pregnant pause, she responded with a simple, "Why?"

Tom Riddle once again showed his amazing skill at avoiding a question. "Why not?"

"Because it's unfair," Hermione replied sternly. _Didn't he think it was unfair as well?_

She heard him utter 'typical Gryffindor' but Hermione declined to comment. Even though there was no need to worry about her library privileges any longer, she was still in the Restricted Section. She still had a mission, and there was no use wasting an opportunity. The Midnight Memory needed to be solved. Dumbledore had instructed to not move on to the next one until she uncovered the first ones secrets. Therefore, she needed to at least pinpoint one book that could possibly contain Tom Riddle's quote.

_The sooner I solve this damn mystery, the sooner we can be happy._

Hermione attempted to move to the next aisle yet again, and this time, to her relief, that evil bastard didn't say anything to stop her. To be safe, Hermione stayed in that aisle for an extra five minutes, and, once again, he didn't say anything.

Deciding that this would be a good time to make a run for it, Hermione cast a nonverbal charm on her shoes, unlit her wand, looked around the bookcase to see if he was switching aisles, and then swiftly ran deeper into the Restricted Section.

As she reached a good distance away from Riddle, Hermione put her back against the bookcase and took a breather. She hadn't realized that she had been holding her breath, afraid that he would shoot a Body Bind curse towards her at any second. With one hand on her heart and one hand on her wand, she tried to force her erratic breathing to calm down.

_C'mon Hermione. You need your senses cleared so you can listen for his footsteps._

Before she started searching the shelf, Hermione made sure to come up with a plausible excuse for why she was 'researching' so far away from him. Though she got away from Riddle, she knew that he would wonder where she had gone off to eventually, and she wanted to achieve her objective before that happened.

Closing her eyes, she forced her body to calm down while she thought about her goal. The Restricted Section, with its many options, only had a couple of places to look. Hermione's mission was to find the section that contained a book about death.

Lord Voldemort's obsession.

Hermione took her wand to see how much time had elapsed since she had left Riddle.

_11 min 38 sec_

The brunette cringed. It would only be a matter of time until he came looking for her. Sure, she could wait until tomorrow, when she would be free of him; but grieving over Roger and Neville shifted something within her. She had blissfully been hiding behind her mission, but now, the veil had shredded, and the only thing left was the feeling that she didn't belong here.

Hermione, despite her bravery and her determination, just wanted this to be over.

And she would do whatever it takes to make sure Voldemort did not breathe past the end of the school year.

At the thought of him, a dangerous, risky idea entered Hermione's mind. The quote Ron had repeated to the Time Travelers during their meeting had been running through her mind over and over again. And her head, who was surprisingly in accordance with her gut, was telling her that there was no harm in asking him where he read that quote.

The Pros to doing this were obvious. Ron was the only one in her friend group to have heard that quote; but Riddle has no reason to believe that Ron would betray him. Recently, Ron had decided to try to move up in the ranks by showing Riddle his loyalty. Harry and he had spent a good portion of a night trying to discuss which secret passage way they could reveal to the Dark Lord that a) he didn't know about already, and b) would seem useful, even though it really wasn't.

Surprisingly, the boys had decided on the Shrieking Shack. Despite Hermione's reservations, Harry's logic was sound. The Shrieking Shack provided access to a relatively unoccupied part of the castle, so if an attack were to happen, the opposing forces would have some time to mobilize. The fact that the Shrieking Shack was relatively cramped and the tunnel to the castle was narrow would deter the Death Eaters for a time as well.

The second and most important pro to her decision was that it would save Hermione some time. If she managed to get the information out of him, she could narrow her search; but, she would have to play her cards right if she didn't want to raise his suspicions.

Nonverbally taking the charm off her shoes, Hermione walked up and down her aisle, noisily clicking the small heel on the bottom of her shoe against the old wooden floor.

And that was all it took.

In a matter of two seconds, she heard his rapid footsteps walk quickly towards her. And, by the sharp sound they were making, she guessed that he probably wasn't too happy with her.

"What are you doing back here?" he hissed, showing a minimal amount of annoyance on his face.

Hermione turned to face him. "Our Potions Project," she replied innocently.

"Yes, I'm aware. But why did you need to look back here?" he asked a little more forcefully, stalking towards her with the grace of a cat.

_Why does it matter? What else are you hiding back here?_

"We have an essay to do along with this Potion," Hermione said matter-of-factly, while trying to muster her confidence. "And you know as well as I do that a good essay has an original view with support from outside sources."

He continued to stalk towards her, his annoyance replaced by his usual impassive mask. She didn't move back, because, though he resembled a tiger ready to pounce, Hermione's instincts were not alarmed. And her instincts had been right.

So far, at least.

"And you didn't care to discuss this with me," he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Hermione got the impression that he was trying to intimidate her.

_Is he scolding me?_

"Not as much as you care about discussing things with me," Hermione couldn't help but retort, tired of his high-handedness.

Riddle ignored her small jibe and continued with his questioning. "Then what, pray tell, are you researching?"

Hermione, though loathe to admit it, replied, "The soul."

If Tom Riddle was put off by her statement, he didn't show it. "What about it?"

Hermione took a deep breath, hoping he would take her explanation. "This Potion plays with people's emotions, so I thought that it'd be a good idea to do some research on the place that feelings can change."

"Feelings are chemicals, Granger," Tom corrected coldly. He was clearly not buying her argument. "They don't affect the soul."

_Oh, how condescending he is towards humanity._

"Listen Riddle, even if you only believe in the baser nature of feelings, you can't ignore that the soul is shaped by feelings. Emotions and reactions to events can affect the soul eternally. Soul Magic would not exist without it," Hermione replied in the same cold, factual voice.

To her surprise, Tom Riddle stared at her, hard, and Hermione realized that she might have just given herself away. His pace quickened towards her, stopping only inches away from her.

The defiant Gryffindor Lioness stared daringly back at the Snake, and she suddenly became acutely aware to his proximity. Even in the dim light, she was sure that he could see through her with his intense gaze, even as she desperately tried to see through him. Her eyes, trained to search him every time he was near enough, found all but one feature in its rightful place. His brown hair still had that slight wave at the front and his face was still eerily pale, but his eyes, for the first time, were not stubbornly silent. They were actually…saying something.

At that moment, surrounded by books and a tension filled silence, Hermione felt a shift in the world.

She didn't know what it was or why it happened at this precise moment in time, but she knew that something had changed; and her gut instincts, who were becoming more attuned to the Head Boy, were telling her that it affected him as well.

It was as if they had come to an understanding.

Hermione's comment had clearly ousted her in some way, and he knew she was on to him. But, whatever she felt told her that they would pretend like nothing happened, like nothing went wrong.

For now at least.

The smartest witch of her age worked her brain to exhaustion trying to understand why he wouldn't tell. She knew that he wanted something; that much was clear. But was it something so necessary to him that he would allow her this one mistake in order to achieve his ends? Was there another reason it was in his best interest to let the matter pass?

Hermione didn't mind his decision, because it allowed her to keep her secrets. But, the fact that he had yet another blunder to dangle over her head made her feel intensely uneasy.

And, it also meant that she would have to do more research and come up with yet another strategy for Tom Riddle.

_Dear Merlin, he's definitely going to be the death of me._

"Your idea is actually sound," he conceded, trying to dispel the awkwardness. Whatever had passed had caused a truce for the remainder of their time in the Restricted Section; and even though Hermione knew that he didn't want her anywhere near books on the soul, she didn't call him out.

And even though she didn't want to wait, Hermione knew she had to find another opportunity to slyly ask him about his quote. If she quoted verbatim what he said at his Death Eater meeting now, then he would become even more suspicious. And she couldn't have that. Not after their temporary, fragile truce.

And especially not after, despite his plans, he had decided that it was too dangerous to accuse her of anything.

Though belated, she attempted a haughty, superior look, hoping to get out of the weird lull they had both created. Yes, her mission was to crack him, but, strangely, with this weird and sudden break through, she wanted to retreat.

* * *

To her surprise (and her relief), Riddle had let her walk back to her Common Room unescorted.

And thank dear sweet Merlin for it.

For a minute there, Hermione had felt as if her world had tipped over its axis, making it unbalanced and wrong. But now that she was away from the prat, she could finally think about the situation.

She hadn't meant to give herself away. And she really needed to be more careful in the future. Tom Riddle, and Lord Voldemort, had amazing powers of perception, only to be matched by the crafty deceit of Severus Snape.

Her mistake had been small but significant, not necessarily telling him that she knew what he was up to, but revealing that she was headed in the right direction. And, even though her words should have been minor (barely noticeable really) his quick mind and his powers of perception had somehow known that she knew more. She had felt it in her gut, in her bones. In that one moment, she had understood him, and he her.

And it was scary.

Even though her stomach, at the time, was screaming for her to never experience that "connection" with him again, her mind told her differently. Her thoughts were actually elated about the fact that she had broken through him, and they were urging her to create that connection again.

Her heart was telling her to never try to understand him ever again. Its reason, however, were totally different from the slight nausea and shock that had risen in her stomach.

_He's just too dark_, her heart told her. _He's in so much turmoil, and he's absorbing the Dark Arts like a sponge_. Getting deeper into his mind, into his mangled soul, would engulf her with him, and she feared that she would be forever traumatized by what she saw.

As she rounded the corner, deep in her thoughts, someone grabbed her from behind. Hermione tensed, ready to use her adrenaline and her elbow to hit her attacker in the stomach; but then, she heard a familiar cynical drawl that made her relax immediately.

"Honestly, Hermione, you'd think you'd be ecstatic about being ambushed by me," Draco whispered in his best seductive voice.

Since it was the egotistical blonde Slytherin, and not her other thirds, Hermione decided that a light jab with her elbow would be good retaliation for the minor scare he gave her.

"Ow!" Draco exclaimed, immediately letting her go. "And before you object to my loudness, let me just say that I put a silencing charm on this corridor."

Hermione turned around and put her hands on her hips. "What are you doing out here?"

"Well, I didn't want to head back to my common room after our meeting, and lucky I didn't, because I saw you get accosted by that son of a bitch. So, being the hero that I am, I decided to stay here and see if you would come out alive," he said, raising his eyebrows at her. "Plus, I have an interesting piece of news for you, courtesy of yours truly."

"Hmm, your second contribution to this mission," Hermione said with a teasing smile. "Must be important."

"Contrary to popular belief, I have contributed greatly to this mission; but, since we're technically fighting, I haven't been able to acknowledge you in public," he said, smirking at her.

Hermione's smile fell a bit, her mind intrigued. "Go on."

"My dear grandfather was throwing a fit last night," Draco explained, a bit of disdain creeping into his voice. "But he provided an interesting crumb of knowledge about the future Dark Lord."

"Wait, why was he throwing a fit?" Hermione asked.

"I don't actually know. Anyway, you might be surprised to know that Voldemort's fear is not what we thought," Draco said.

Hermione's mind resumed its gears as she absorbed the gravity of the situation. "He's not afraid of death?"

"I'm sure he is, but it's not his biggest fear."

Hermione looked at Draco suspiciously. "Wait, how did you get this information from your grandfather?"

Draco sighed in mild exasperation. "I wasn't planning on giving you a full recounting." He leaned against the wall, settling in before starting his tale. "I was about to open the door to my room when I heard grandpa talking to Nott Senior. Unlike myself and my father, grandpa's fault is indiscretion. When he's angry, half of his logical abilities leave his mind completely."

"Anyway, I guess it's important to say that grandpa feels a little annoyed towards Riddle," he finished, holding out the suspense in true Malfoy fashion.

"Is there dissention within the ranks?" Hermione asked excitedly.

"From what I've been able to pick up, and from what Ron has observed, no there isn't," Draco replied, to which Hermione deflated a bit. "Turns out Ron's assertions were right. They were chastised against killing. Grandfather, naturally, was annoyed."

"Because he wanted to kill Roger?"

"Stop getting ahead of yourself, Granger," Draco sighed, smirking at her mind's ability to run rampant at a small piece of information. "I'm saying that my Grandfather and Nott are both within the inner circle, so Riddle has naturally told them some kind of reasoning behind his plans. Of course, he didn't disclose anything truly important, but just enough for his inner circle to do his bidding."

"And what was his reasoning?" Hermione asked in suspense.

"Apparently, right now, the Death Eaters are laying low for a different reason than we thought. It's because their strong and glorious leader is scared of fear," Draco revealed.

Hermione stared, dumbfounded. "That makes absolutely no sense."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course it does. He's scared of being scared."

"Yeah, I gathered that," Hermione snapped. "But if you're scared of being scared, then you must not want to be scared of something. What could he possibly have to fear?"

"The only conclusions I came to is that he's afraid of losing something," Draco replied. "Apparently, this laying low and doing everything behind the scenes is Riddle's way of safeguarding a possession of his."

"His soul," Hermione stated.

"Wrong," Draco corrected, leaving the know-it-all Gryffindor across from him staring incredulously into his blue eyes. The Slytherin puffed his chest out with pride. "Wow, saying you're wrong gave me some surprising satisfaction."

Hermione took a deep breath and tried not to strangle the infuriating blonde in front of her. "Just tell me why I'm wrong."

"This is what I heard verbatim," Draco said, straightening a bit and taking on the manner of his snotty Grandfather. "'Lord Voldemort needs to stop being so damn afraid of losing these stupid material possessions. They're just so many of them; it's hard to keep up. And, he won't even need them once he leads the most powerful organization in the world."

"Material possessions?" Hermione said thoughtfully. "His Horcruxes?"

"No one knows about them, Hermione," Draco said. "Not even Aunt Bella knew about the cup when she put it in her vault. She just knew she had to guard it."

"His books then?" Hermione guessed.

"That was my initial reaction. But then I thought, 'why in the hell would Hermione be able to guess what he's hiding?'"

"Well then what else could it be?" Hermione asked frustrated. She ran a hand through her long, bushy curls as she sorted through every mental filing cabinet she had, searching for a clue. "What else could this lunatic possibly have?"

"I don't know, but remember, my dear grandfather said material possessions. He could be guarding either multiples of the same object, or several objects all together; and since we weren't here to screw up history when Riddle made his first Horcrux and grandpa said there were many of them, I think it's safe to assume it's not the pieces of his soul."

Hermione sighed, suddenly exhausted, as she leaned against the wall next to Draco. "How has no one been able to know this? How were all of these mysteries not in existence in our time?"

Draco turned to look at her. Even through the darkness, Hermione could see the resolution on his face. "It's because, dear Hermione, you were right. Something that happened, either this year or in the next four or five years, changed Riddle."

"Yeah, but if that's true, then we know --."

"—that those objects didn't exist in our time. We have to find out what they are and protect them at all costs."

* * *

**A/N:** Once again, **I'm so grateful** that you, my readers, have made it to the bottom of my seventh chapter. I'm get so motivated and exited to hear your wonderful compliments and even your critiques! I write for myself and for you guys, and I'm so glad that we can enjoy this story together.

And, once again, I'm providing another chapter preview. Until next time!

**Preview: (yes, it does imply that my next chapter will be the first that is pure Tom and Hermione) **

"Hermione, you're going to be in the Forbidden Forest alone and unprotected for at least three hours with that evil, serial killing maniac."


	8. A Field of Blackness

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.

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**Announcement:** I have already received one offer for a beta, but I like getting second opinions. So, if anyone else would like to beta, that'd be great!

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**A/N:** So, here's my next update. **I will warn you**, that some of Hermione's stream of conciousness will be confusing in this chapter, but stay with it, and I hope that it will be enjoyable nonetheless.

Enjoy your pure Tomione chapter!

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**Reviewer Shout Out**:

**Lady de Winter 27**: Thank you so much for reading! And thanks for your compliment!

**rmartin318**: You know how much I love you! Thank you for being so encouraging and for liking my story. PLEASE UPDATE, by the way.

**Shake**: I'm truly grateful for your compliments and I hope that you love this chapter as well.

**Elspethe**: I'm glad you're enjoying my story so much. And yes, your point is very valid, and I tried to find different ways of listing things in Hermione's mind this chapter. And yes, college is keeping me incredibly busy, but I hope this chapter makes up for it!

**patie**: I'm glad you like my characerization of Tom, and I'm glad you liked the previous chapter. I hope you continue reading!

**Riuet**: Regarding the material possessions, you actually were right on the money until I changed my mind... And Draco's my favorite. I'm glad you like him. I hope you enjoy this chapter, because it's going to be pure Tom and Hermione!

**Wisawaffle**: I hope you continue being attached to this story. Hopefully this chapter is to your liking!

**imaginexthat**: Yes, I wanted to widen Hermione's scope of people, but i didn't want to make her too open to others too quickly. And thank you for the compliment on my plot. I know it feels like a lot right now, but a lot will be resolved around Christmas time at Hogwarts. I also hope that Tom in this chapter satisfies your curiosity....for now.

**Dri Almighty**: Oh, don't worry, their first kiss will be more special than that! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Summer Leah**: Thank you for offering. I think I'll let you officially start beta-ing my next chapter if you're up for it!

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**Friday, October 23rd, 1944, 11:45 PM**

"Do you have your wand?"

"You remember those physical combat moves just in case, right?"

"And, if not, you could try to seduce him with….that bird's nest of yours."

"She is NOT seducing Lord Voldemort."

"Yeah!"

"If it'll keep her alive…"

"Shut up. And you remember the other information you have to get?"

"NOT by seduction."

"On second thought, maybe he's not into bushy-haired girls…"

"Will you three shut up?" Hermione asked in exasperation. Honestly, she appreciated their concern, but she could duel all three of them and win. They shouldn't worry so much. "I'll be perfectly fine."

"Hermione, you're going to be in the Forbidden Forest alone and unprotected for at least three hours with that evil, serial killing _maniac_," Ron informed her.

_As if I didn't know, Ronald._

"Believe me, I'm very aware that I'm risking my life again," Hermione said reassuringly. "And yes, I remember the combat moves, and no, I will not seduce him."

"I personally don't see how combat moves will help if he has a wand and she's wand-less. At least giving him a sexy wink and an arm caress will catch him off guard," Draco grumbled, put out that no one liked his idea, even though he wasn't being serious about it.

"Draco, despite evidence to the contrary, I don't think that anything will happen to me. I've been alone with him on numerous occasions, remember?" Hermione said, trying to sound as sweet and confident as possible. She then turned to bestow Ron with one of her brightest smiles.

The boys had dragged Hermione off to the Room of Requirements, all of them ferociously lecturing her about how, even though she was incredibly smart, Tom Riddle was smart as well, which means that he could render her defenseless, kill her, and they'll never find her body and all of this other apocalyptic rubbish that made Hermione want to punch all of them repeatedly.

They were so worried that Ron and Draco decided to block the door to prevent Hermione's escape while Harry unleashed his pleading puppy-dog eyes on her.

Hermione was not amused.

"Yeah, Hermione, but it just takes that one time for everything to go horribly wrong," Harry said for the third time.

Hermione smiled gently at him. Her boys had been smart to designate Harry as the main pleader, because they knew that Hermione knew that Harry's advice was the most credible. He had the most experience with anything Lord Voldemort, and he also understood Hermione the most.

"I'll be fine. And," she said, raising her voice so that the other boys could hear. "If something does happen to me, I've made sure to place a tracking charm on myself. You'll be able to trace my trail, no matter where I've been. Now, what time is it?"

Draco took out his wand. "Midnight."

Hermione's eyes widened. "No," she breathed, knowing a certain brunette Slytherin would give her an earful for this. "I have to go."

* * *

As Hermione quickly walked down the empty halls of Hogwarts, she tried to turn her lateness into a productive thinking exercise. Despite knowing about this rendezvous with Riddle, Hermione had, unknown to the boys, not planned for it.

It wasn't that she didn't know how to go about it or that she thought the plan was undoable. In fact, she had pondered extensively about why she felt oddly reluctant to delve into Tom Riddle's mind. Shouldn't she be fearlessly diving into him? Shouldn't she be trying to wrench everything from his mind?

At the end of her pondering, she had realized, to her utter self-disgust, that she was _scared_.

And not of Tom Riddle per say. Hermione, throughout her whole mission, had strangely never been afraid of the future Dark Lord. No, what she was actually scared of was _knowing_ him – his thoughts, his beliefs, and his goals.

Merlin, if she told the boys that, they would laugh and say _"Hermione, how can you be afraid of that. Isn't that the whole point of your mission?"_

And it was. She had to find the shortest way to all of Tom Riddle's inner secrets, and she was doing it gladly. His demise would save the future from all of the pain and misery it had suffered under Lord Voldemort's reign.

So why, then, was she so reluctant to get to know the future Dark Lord?

It was because she didn't like the way she felt when she had minor breakthroughs with him. The method of communication that works best on the Head Boy was the direct and concise method. She found that if she spoke as much of her mind as she could in the shortest sentences possible, he would reveal some of himself as well. It wouldn't be much, but it was a major improvement from how frigid Riddle was with her at the beginning; and it made Hermione feel like she was succeeding.

The Gryffindor could only guess why that method worked on the Head Boy. She knew that honesty rarely reached Riddle's ears. Over the course of these past two months, she realized that all of those Slytherins that laugh and joke with him in the Great Hall were only there to please him. They never dared tell their master what they were thinking. So maybe, just maybe, Riddle found Hermione's attempt to actually say what she's thinking refreshing.

But then, why would Tom Riddle respond to realness when he himself is a façade?

Whatever his reasons, Hermione didn't like being slightly genuine with him during those breakthrough moments. Opening herself up to Riddle, even if it was to receive information, was against her mission's rules of engagement, and it was _dangerous_. Riddle knowing anything about her could result in complete disaster for her and her boys.

Yet, it had to be done. Her gut told her that if she continued cautiously with these methods, she would eventually crack him.

But, she still couldn't shake her fear. When he revealed something, or when she felt like she was succeeding, alarms went off in her head, because, when she felt like she could see a little bit inside of him, she also felt as if he could see everything inside of her.

And that couldn't happen. As much as she needed to understand him, she can't allow him to understand her.

Hermione also felt as if she was walking blind into this mission, especially since she didn't have Harry or Ron by her side. She also realized that she had made it that way. She hadn't been telling them about her strategy. Of course, they knew her overall objective, they knew about her successes, and they knew little bits of her plan, but, little by little, they knew less and less about her interaction with Riddle.

But, though she felt terrible for keeping her other thirds in the dark, she had to put aside her guilt for the overall success of the mission. If Harry and Ron knew what she was dabbling with, they would try to prevent her for her own protection; and Hermione knew that, no matter what, she had to continue this way with Tom Riddle until she could think of another way to get information out of him. She had achieved too much success already.

While using her methods this past week, she noticed that the Head Boy had stopped trying to ignore conversations with her, and, to Hermione's complete surprise, had started two of his own as well. Granted, they were all about their project or about some other class they shared together, but it was something. They still played games, they debated more than anything else, but it was something.

Yet, with all of this success, Hermione couldn't find a way to fight her insecurities. In everything that she did for the Order that involved the collection of intelligence, her tasks had never involved an emotional component. Unlike some of the older Order members, she had never needed to get close to the enemy in order to obtain information. Now, everything she was doing involved emotional mind games, and it made her want to lock all of her private thoughts and emotions away.

But she couldn't. She had to force herself to open up tonight if she was going to accomplish anything. She had to clear her mind and remember her main objectives: she had to crack him, she had to solve the first memory, and she had to figure out all of the side mysteries in between.

_Hopefully tonight will help_, Hermione thought, as she rounded the last corner.

As Hermione came to a halt at the top of the Great Hall staircase, she was mildly surprised at the lack of a certain cynical, condescending brunette. She spun around, her heart pounding as she briefly wondered if he was hiding somewhere, waiting to kill her.

She then heard a slight cough at the bottom of the Great Hall staircase. Hermione stiffened and closed her eyes in embarrassment before turning to face the current bane of her existence.

_Late. _

That was the only word Hermione could use to describe Tom Riddle's face.

_Late._

And really, that word wasn't purely an adjective, unless one wanted to describe a late bloomer or late work; but late became an adjective in the purest form when Hermione arrived at the top of the Great Hall staircase and stared at the Head Boy's distinguishable features.

As he looked up at her, he had one eyebrow raised and his lips were set in a way that, despite herself, comically reminded Hermione of a stern Mrs. Weasley. Caused by the dimly lit torchlight, the shadows on his face made the angles of his cheekbones and jaw more severe; and, though she was a considerable distance away, Hermione could see his eyes. They were accusing and annoyed and condescending – a combination of the three emotions he was capable of feeling.

Hermione had no doubt that he was doing this on purpose.

"Something wrong, Riddle?" she asked, false innocence dripping from her voice.

"You're late," he replied simply, his accusation resonating up to her.

Hermione was well aware. Her sharp mind and punctual nature had estimated that she was at least three minutes late. To be sure, she was cringing inside; Hermione Jean Granger was never late. She knew, grudgingly, that she was in the wrong.

She had to apologize to him.

And as much as she didn't want to say it, Hermione didn't want to spend a whole night arguing with him over her punctuality issues. She had better things to annoy him about.

"Sorry," Hermione muttered, wincing inwardly at how insincere she sounded.

Riddle didn't have the decency to reply. Instead, he abruptly turned on his heels and headed purposefully for the exit.

Hermione rolled her eyes as her pride bristled at his arrogance. How dare he? She was late three minutes, and he was going to make her run to keep up with him. As _punishment_? How _dare_ he?

_You don't want to fight with him Hermione. Remember, between you and him, you're the kinder, saner, non-homicidal one. _

Swallowing her irritation, Hermione ran after him. She quickly descended the stairs and tried not to balk when she saw that he didn't even bother to leave the door open for her. Pushing them open with a lot more force then was warranted, she saw with minor astonishment that he had already crossed the courtyard. Marveling at his long stride, she ran faster, determined to catch up with him so that she wouldn't have to run after him the entire way.

_Seriously, he isn't that tall. His stride shouldn't be that long._

With her frustration reaching its pinnacle, Hermione caught up to him before he descended the stairs that lead to the grounds. As she reached his side, she didn't even think before irately asking, "What's wrong with you?"

Tom Riddle didn't bother to look at her. "You were late. I'm simply trying to make up for lost time."

"If I'm correct, I was only late three minutes. Does that really constitute what you're doing?" she asked with some venom in her voice, his innocent act grating heavily on her nerves.

"Three minutes is sometimes all that is needed to create a difference in this world," he said, his voice remaining stoic.

Hermione briefly forgot her irritation at his comment. Why was it that he took some of the words she said – words that Hermione usually threw out without thinking – so seriously? This rare tendency of his never failed to catch her off guard, because when he spoke these philosophical thoughts, there was no artifice behind them. The two times this had happened with Hermione, her gut told her that he was being completely honest with her.

The Gryffindor was jostled out of her minor reverie when she noticed that they were incredibly close to a hut.

_Hagrid's Hut._

All at once, her nerves gave way to an overwhelming burst of emotion. The lock she had kept on her memories of the war twisted slightly, and before her vision, she saw flashes of the younger version of herself and her boys knocking on the door to visit their favorite half-giant.

She hated it when this happened. And she hated that her repressed emotions made the appearance at the most inopportune times. Especially when a certain Slytherin was in her presence.

_Don't look at it. Don't look at it. Don't look at it._

In her attempts to reign in her emotions, Hermione stopped paying attention to her body. As she tried to not imagine Hagrid making rock cake or petting Fang, she tripped flat on her face with an '_oof_,' with a mortified expression on herself.

If she had had the luxury, Hermione would have stayed on the ground for a very long time and cried for everything and everyone. Lately, her memories, as well as those of her boys, had been coming back to haunt them. She knew that repressing their strong emotions was not healthy, and she knew that she would melt down some day.

But, not today. Despite her emotions and the fresh cuts her hands had obtained from trying to break her fall, she knew that Tom Riddle was not going to wait for her. And that frustrated her to no end.

As she got up and dusted herself off, she looked to see how far he had gone. Adding to her already palpable irritation, Riddle's long strides and fast pace had taken him a considerably distance away.

Hermione had had enough of him.

"Wait for me," she said in her most authoritative voice.

"I already did in the Great Hall. Now we're late," was his faint reply, his voice drifting nonchalantly over his shoulder.

"Well, with all due respect Riddle, wait again," she said, her voice unfailingly stern.

Her tone – one that, Hermione realized, she had never taken with him – gave him pause; and to her slight triumph, Riddle stopped and turned towards her. Hermione, at his glitch in his normal behavior, naturally checked his face for any small sign of anger. In these past couple of months, Hermione learned that Tom Riddle could hide his rage extremely well; however, the most reliable way to guess at his anger was his jaw.

After a quick scan, she realized that his jaw wasn't tightened. Instead, his lips were widened into a smirk, and Hermione contemplated whether she should fear for her life.

"As you wish," he said, giving her a mocking, stiff half-bow.

Hermione, her frustrated expression now replaced with wariness, tried to walk forward normally. From her experience with Draco, she knew that a smirk, from any Slytherin, was an ominous sign.

Not bothering to thank him for waiting, she reached him, subconsciously gripping her wand in response to his smirk. She wanted to walk straight past him but, with a jolt, she realized that she had absolutely no idea where they were going.

Hermione's jaw wanted to drop to the floor. The entire time that they had both been aware of this outing, she had not thought to ask him where they were going and he had not volunteered the information. Even if she hadn't asked, shouldn't he have had the decency to tell her? They were partners for Merlin's sake! And here she was, going into the Forbidden Forest, of all places, with_ him _and having absolutely no earthly idea where she was going.

_You might as well just ask him, Hermione. He's not going to kill two people within a couple of weeks of each other, and if he wanted to kill you, he probably would have done it by now. _

"Can you tell me where we're going," Hermione asked as politely as she could, knowing that she probably sounded really unintelligent asking that question now.

She could practically feel him roll his eyes as he tsked, "You Gryffindors. Always following people blindly."

Hermione wanted to slap him. "This has nothing to do with my House, Riddle. It has to do with the fact that we're _partners_, and one of us has more difficulty coping with that reality than the other."

The informally dubbed "Most Talented Wizard of His Age" scoffed at her. "I have no difficulty coping what-so-ever. I'm perfectly capable of doing this project. And --."

"Yeah, Riddle, you're capable of doing it on _your own,"_ she said, now standing only a foot away from him, not bothering to hide her ire. "But not with me. You're horrid at it with me."

"Or _you_ could be the one who's horrid at the project," he countered, as if he was stating a fact.

"Let me just tell you that_ I_ am not horrid at anything academic," Hermione retorted, now speaking through clenched teeth. _Oooo he made her so angry._ "You're just horrible at _group _work. You wouldn't even let me help you the first day we worked together."

"It's because I couldn't trust your ability or your intelligence," he said in his matter-of-fact voice again.

Hermione smirked at him then, quickly finding the fault in his logic. "Did it ever occur to you, Tom Riddle, that I couldn't trust yours either? You could have been bloody illiterate for all I knew."

"We met in _the library_. Do you know other illiterate people that visit the library?"

Hermione tried not to gawk as he smirked back at her and started to walk towards the forest.

_This is going to be a long night._

* * *

Not far into the Forbidden Forest, Hermione was trying to decide whether she should try her luck again. He was standing in front of her focusing (a little too much for Hermione's taste) at the task at hand. Hermione was walking behind him and staring intently at his back. Both of their wands were out and lighting they're paths, and it was quite obvious, from his intense focus, that Riddle didn't want to talk to her.

Hermione, on the other hand, had quickly gotten over her initial irritation as her mind refocused on her mission at hand. Her instincts were telling her that now was the time for questions; and her brain, at the same time, advised her that if she lightly touched one of the many subjects she wanted to talk about, he would be more receptive when she completely broached them later.

She could not waste time.

"Have you done anymore research on the soul?" Hermione asked in what she hoped was an indifferent voice.

If she didn't know better, she would have thought that Riddle stiffened at her question. "I don't understand how that subject is even relevant."

_Remember, honesty is the best policy, Hermione._

"That's because you don't think outside the box," Hermione replied, not bothering to keep the cheekiness from her voice.

She smirked when she was sure she saw him tense just slightly in the shoulders. "Fine, since we're Potions partners, please convince me as to why we should even look into this topic."

Her smirk widened.

_This was slightly easier than I thought._

"Well, like I said, this is mostly for the essay portion of this project, which, if I may remind you, is weighted the same as our actual potion. Researching this would give our essay a new insight, a new edge, and it would make it memorable," she explained, starting with the most logical explanation first. She hoped that appealing to his need to be better than everyone else would soften his outlook a bit. "Second, this Potion affects a person's feelings. Feelings are determined by chemicals and a person's perception, but they affect the heart and soul. And, this potion has been, albeit debatably, said to alter the soul."

There was a slight pause, and Tom Riddle didn't even turn to look at her when he argued back. "Our essay will be memorable regardless of whether or not we include this little section."

_Arrogant prat._

"It's pointless. Slughorn will see it as a way to siddle up to him --."

"Remember, Riddle, that Slughorn thinks we're both brilliant. And I'm sure you're well aware of the fact that anything we do to prove his opinion will be greeted with open arms," Hermione interrupted, her teeth starting to clench again.

_Honestly, did he always have to be difficult? Were the words okay or sure or alright or you're right even in his vocabulary?_

"How very calculating. That justification was almost Slytherin of you," he observed. And even though Hermione couldn't see his face, she knew, without a doubt, that there was a smirk on it.

"Listen, I just want a good grade. And if you could pick a part in the project that you would deign to let me help with, pick the essay. Otherwise, I'll just do it on my own."

Hermione watched his back, waiting for an answer. His pace had slowed a little bit, but he still kept walking as if he hadn't even heard her mini-plea. Feeling completely incensed, Hermione's mind was beginning to count the ways she could nag and chastise him to death, his violent tendencies be damned.

However, just as she opened her mouth, Tom Riddle stopped, the stiffness in his shoulders returned, and he grumbled a half-hearted, "Fine," before he walked silently on.

Hermione's equilibrium became so off kilter by his concession that she thought she was going to fall again. Her mind was also caught off guard, and after quickly calculating every possible reason for his response, she came up with another question instead.

Had Tom Riddle actually agreed to compromise with her _willingly_?

Hermione narrowed her eyes, staring daggers at his back. _No, of course not. Everything has a price with him._

* * *

From what Hermione estimated to be thirty minutes of blissful silence – where Hermione was still thankfully alive and plotting violent things against the boy in front of her – Tom Riddle jostled her from her thoughts.

Hermione was immediately wary. Tom Riddle starting a conversation was synonymous with uncomfortable situations.

"_You know_, I told Dippet that you wanted to accept his Prefect offer. He said you have to be at the next meeting," Riddle informed her, not bothering to keep the smugness out of his voice.

Hermione balked and stopped abruptly. "Wait just a minute," she hissed.

Tom Riddle stopped and turned to face her, his hands linked behind his back and his blank look artfully in place.

"You told Dippet that I wanted to be a Prefect? Without _my_ permission? Are you barking mad?"

Riddle raised his eyebrows at her tone. "That's no way to thank me --."

"_Thank _you? Thank you!" Hermione yelled, completely forgetting her personal code of conduct with her counterpart. If there was one thing that Hermione didn't appreciate, it was others taking away her will and her mind. She believed in independence and free thinking, and Riddle, by accepting a major responsibility on her behalf without even consulting her took those away from her. Now, on top of her mission, she would have to devote her intellectual energy on patrol schedules and planning events. Not to mention that she would also have to do major damage control within her house.

This was absolutely _ridiculous_.

"Riddle, I said no because I didn't want to be a Prefect," Hermione spat, her wand now shooting sparks from the turmoil in her energy. She then pointed it at him accusingly, her eyes widening in sudden realization. "And come to think of it, you didn't want me to be a Prefect either!"

"I changed my mind," he said calmly, as he turned and continued walking.

This only served to enrage her further.

"That doesn't mean that I changed mine. You had absolutely no right to accept on my behalf!" she ranted, resisting the urge to stamp her foot.

Riddle narrowed his eyes before turning back around and walking again. "Don't you want to be a Prefect?" he asked in that nonchalant tone of his. "Aren't you just _dying_ for everyone to know how much more brilliant you are compared to them? I think you are. I was just merely giving you a shot at it."

Hermione had been in the process of trying to keep up with him, and, at his ridiculous statement, she fell.

Again.

This time, though, her hand fell into a pile of leaves. In comparison, the pile of leaves should have been preferable to the hard ground; however, she still had fresh, open cuts, and as she fell, she felt a leaf enter her cut. Hermione winced at the pain, but she quickly got up, knowing that Riddle wouldn't stop for her again.

_Of all the stupid, mean, ignorant things to ….so that's what he thinks of me!_

The Lioness wanted to give the Snake a piece of her mind. Weighing her options quickly, she realized that being completely honest with him about her annoyance would be more beneficial than detrimental. She doubted he would kill her now that he had practically forced her to be Prefect, and, as she continually tried to remind herself, honesty was the best policy.

Hermione took a few deep breaths before she bluntly said, "You, Riddle, need to learn how to communicate."

Riddle spun towards her again, his signature raised eyebrow perfectly in place. "I beg your pardon."

"Listen, we've been walking for forty-five minutes. You just told me I was going to be a Prefect. I have no idea where we're going. I'm just hoping you know what the hell you're doing," she bit off, advancing towards him. In her ire, she was using her wand as a stress ball and gripping it until her knuckles turned white.

Her hand had also started to feel unnaturally hot. Hermione ignored it, thinking it was just because her anger was causing extra heat within her.

"And you still have not deigned to tell me, after months of knowing we would be out here, deep in the Forbidden Forest, at night, what the plan is."

Hermione, by then, was unnaturally short of breath, as she felt the warmth from her hand inch up to her wrist. Also, a dull throbbing had started within her thumb. Hermione briefly wondered as to the origins of this pain before justifying that it was just the aftershocks of her fall.

Satisfied with this answer, she focused back on her counterpart.

"And those are all of the reasons why you are horrible at communicating, Riddle."

After her mini-rant, Riddle's condescending eyebrow was replaced with a mild scowl. "Did it ever occur to you, Granger, that you could have asked what the plan was?"

Hermione tried not to gape at him as she chastised herself for forgetting that this lack of communication was a two-way street.

_Alright, deflection it is, then._

"Would you have told me if I had asked?" Hermione inquired with a mocking raise of her own eyebrow.

Tom stared at her for what seemed like an eternity until he whispered, "Yes."

In this moment, Hermione was grateful for the cover of darkness. She was sure that, if it had been the middle of the day, Tom Riddle would have witnessed her incredulous and slightly awed expression – both of which came together to form what she knew was an unattractive expression. But, thankfully, everything was black – save for the dim light of their wands – and Hermione was free to stare at him.

Her brain had hit its overdrive mode, and she looked at another one of his simple answers from every possible angle. What would he gain? What could he be possibly trying to do? Should she believe him? Was he even being serious?

Her mind's conclusion, to her utter surprise, was that he was genuine. What would he gain from lying? From turning her world upside down? Merlin, he probably didn't even understand the gravity of what he had just admitted.

What he had just indirectly declared to her, for no apparent reason, was that he was willing to work with her on a professional level. It's not exactly where the Time Traveler's wanted to be, but, after what seemed like years of battling with him – his arrogance, his will, his secrets – she had achieved some sort of working relationship with him.

Hermione felt so weighed down by the gravity of the situation that she was of the mind not to believe him.

But, the remnants of his breath in the chilly night air were proof that he had uttered that fateful word. As she looked at the mist, rising in slow motion from his lips, she knew that there was no going back on this shift in their relationship.

And, to Hermione's bewilderment, she felt accomplished for the first time in a long time, there, in the Forbidden Forest, with Tom Riddle….

Until her usual insecurities started to set in.

_Oh, how completely bonkers the world had gone._

Hugging herself for protection (while hoping that he took this gesture as a sign of her being cold) she hung her head and quickly walked past him, not caring about the danger of turning her back to him.

Seriously, what was wrong with her? Here Riddle was, actually establishing some sort of working relationship with her, and here she was, feeling suddenly completely against it. Shouldn't she be happy at her success? Shouldn't she be thinking about how proud her boys were going to be?

Instead, she was walking in front of her enemy with no sense of direction, feeling off-balance and vulnerable. And she shouldn't. A professional relationship doesn't signify any change other than being slightly more civil with each other. But, to Hermione, it felt like this huge, mind-shattering, melodramatic ordeal.

And she had a sneaking suspicion that it was because Riddle had been the one to make the move. He had been the one to initiate what she had been working towards for two months. And that, to Hermione, had major implications that would need to be mulled over later with her boys.

Feeling the random throbbing and heat in her hand move up to her elbow, Hermione briefly thought about the cause of this minor pain before she shoved it aside and tried to put some distance between herself and her Potions Partner.

_Bloody Merlin-y hell, Riddle can't surprise me like this anymore. _

* * *

Forty-five minutes deeper into the woods, Hermione's whole arm, her right shoulder, and the lower half of her neck felt like they were housing the seven levels of hell. She was on fire and she was in pain and her mind started to feel tired and burnt out, like she felt after a long night of studying. However, her mind also told her that the pain was bearable and that she could last until the end of the night.

Plus, what else could she do? She had already tried various anti-inflammatory and pain relieving charms, but to no avail. If she asked Riddle for help, he would probably take pleasure in her pain and not help at all. And, Hermione highly doubted that, despite his genius, he knew many healing spells.

Therefore, Hermione would soldier on.

Making her mind think in order to forget the pain, she pondered why they had been walking for at least an hour and a half. Compared to the treks she had taken with Harry and Ron, this search for heather was taking an unnaturally long amount of time.

Too long.

_Could we, despite Riddle's talent for planning and organization, be lost?_ Hermione thought with a smirk. _Dear Merlin, if that were the case, then Hell had officially frozen over. Honestly, for all of his smarts, he couldn't even remember directions?_

Mustering her innocent voice, Hermione asked, "Riddle, are we lost?"

There was a slight pause. "No."

Hermione's smirk widened. "Alright, Riddle. I'm trusting you."

The Gryffindor was so caught up in her mirth and trying to ignore her pain that she didn't notice the visible tension that appeared in Tom Riddle's shoulders.

* * *

"I may have taken a wrong turn," the Head Boy confessed fifteen minutes later, despite his earlier negation.

Seeing as her pain had now spread to her other shoulder, her mind had started to feel numb, and she was having trouble breathing, the lioness within her only roared with mild satisfaction. Her instincts were telling her that she needed to tell Riddle that she didn't feel well, but her mind, who felt strangely disconnected from her instincts, told her she'd be fine.

And Hermione decided that her mind was right, and that she needed to take this opportunity to gloat.

"Should we head back?" she asked, the triumph evident in her voice.

"No," was his simple reply, looking over his shoulder at her strangely.

Hermione's smug feeling stood aside for her incredulousness at his answer. "Are you mad? You're going to continue going down the wrong path?"

Though his back was turned to her again, Hermione's gut told her that, without a doubt, the future Dark Lord had rolled his eyes at her. And, if she had the opportunity to see his face, she would guess that his jaw would be somewhat clenched as well.

And suddenly, as if he had just heard her speculation about him, he turned and stared at her again. His eyes looked searchingly over her face, as if he was conducting an examination. Hermione tried to stare back defiantly, but the pain she was feeling limited her to a blank look.

She could feel the throbbing and the flames spreading to just below her bust line. Once again, she briefly thought about the causes of this strange pain; and in response, her instincts told her to check her hand. She gently brushed her thumb over the fresh scab that covered her cut as Tom Riddle gave her one last look before continuing on his way.

Her mind, at her actions, told her that her instincts were faulty. She had never felt this sort of strange disconnect between her instincts and her mind before, but, in this battle, she felt compelled to believe her mind.

But, what Hermione didn't know was that her thoughts were being treacherous, and her cut did indeed have everything to do with her sudden illness. And, if she actually sat and thought about the origins of her pain, she would have easily found that all logic pointed to her second fall.

_You can make it, Hermione. You need this grade, Hermione. You're a strong women, Hermione. Child birth is probably worse than this, Hermione._

An irritated "bloody hell" floated over Riddle's shoulder to Hermione's ear. And, just to prove his point, he flourished his wand over his head three times and waited. Hermione thought that Riddle had over-exaggerated his wand flourish for her benefit, but her tired mind wasn't in the mood to call him out on it.

After a couple more seconds, Riddle, contradicting himself again, abruptly turned towards her and pushed passed her, his wand arm outstretched.

Hermione wordlessly followed, a smirk reappearing on her lips. Even though her pain was getting worse, she, once again, felt fiercely satisfied because Tom Riddle had just nonverbally cast an advanced direction charm, proving that a) he was completely and utterly lost and b) he, for some strange and uncharacteristic reason, had forgotten to cast it in the first place.

Granted, Hermione had forgotten as well, but, she had contracted this strange pain early in the mission, and she justified that that's why she forgot. Tom Riddle, on the other hand, did not feel as if half of his upper body was on fire.

There was no excuse for him.

* * *

They had started to retrace the steps on the path in which they came, and then, at some point, they had turned left.

At this moment, the pain had fully spread through all of Hermione's upper body. In contrast, her mind was starting to feel unfocused and extremely fatigued. Part of Hermione was telling her that this separation of mind and body was dangerous, and that she should tell Riddle immediately. But, by this time, she had gotten used to pushing the pain aside, telling herself that it was for the good of the project and the good of the mission.

If Hermione had really thought and pushed past the treacherous thoughts of her mind, she would have known that the leaf that had invaded her cut was the origin of all of her misery. And, if she forced herself to remember details, she would have known that the leaf she had come into contact with was quite poisonous.

But, instead, Hermione thought that giving Riddle a hard time would help her forget her pain.

"Couldn't we have done this the first time around?" Hermione asked, trying, despite the fire in her body, to hide the accusatory tone in her voice.

And really, she shouldn't have made the effort. He still noticed it and still got offended. "Excuse me, but I believe that you could have thought of doing this as well."

As he said this, Hermione noticed that he was scrutinizing her over his shoulder, and she once again got the feeling that she was being examined. However, her pain was now spreading to her knees, and her mind urged her to think of a comeback so that she could forget the flames in her body.

"Oh, Riddle, are you finally acknowledging my abilities?" she asked as sarcastically as the inflammation would allows. "And let's be honest. You wouldn't have taken my suggestion. You're track record with my suggestions downright horrid."

Riddle then stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face her. Instead of his usual disdainful scowl, he was giving her a curious scowl with a strange accusatory edge to it.

"Is there something wrong with you, Granger," he asked, his voice suspicious as his eyes scanned over her for the fifth time that night.

To Hermione's horror, she felt a very strong urge to giggle. To giggle! Hermione Granger, no matter the circumstance, did not giggle. The logical part of her mind knew this, and it sent distress signals to Hermione's flight-or-flight instincts, trying to tell her that something was indeed terribly wrong.

But, once again, her mind contradicted her instincts and told her to deny that anything was wrong with her.

"Whatever do you mean?" Hermione asked, hoping that her even tone would convince him.

Riddle placed his lit wand in front of her face to get a more accurate view of her features. "Even though you are usually disagreeable," he started as he moved his wand from one side of her face to the other, "you're being exponentially more disagreeable this evening. Are you scared of the forest, Granger? Because if so, you know you can't back out, unless you'd like to wonder back to Hogwarts by yourself."

Hermione stared at him, having trouble retaining everything he had just told her. She tried going back over his words, but her whole neck throbbed in protest.

_Yes, this was most definitely not good. Something is wrong with me._

Her pause translated into a blank stare on Riddle's end, and he gave a disdainful sniff. "Since we're partners, I suggest you shape up and get your mind working. We can't be too far now, and you know that we're not looking for just any heather; we're looking for the youngest in the batch, and you have to have all of your facilities in order to spot it."

As Hermione continued to stare at him blankly, her world in turmoil, Riddle's features changed from mild contempt to confused and curious. "And I'm assuming, until you actually tell me the truth, that you're afraid of the Forbidden Forest; so, if you get attacked, I'll save you and all that other Gryffindor nonsense; now quicken your pace and wipe that blank look off of your face."

Lucky for her counterpart, Hermione didn't have the energy to feel angry, so she used most of her energy to focus on her task. He was right; they had to search for a certain type of heather, and she had to contribute, lest the Slytherin try to take all of the credit for the project.

Straightening herself, Hermione quickened her pace to match Riddle's as they continued towards wherever they were going. And, at the same time, she tried to ignore the fact that her vision was starting to blur.

* * *

After another fifteen minutes, Hermione knew they had arrived. She could see the silvery light of the moon illuminating a large, colorful clearing. She didn't know how unbearable her pain had gotten until she saw it, and when she did, relief washed over her in large, rolling waves.

_Oh, thank Merlin._

Hermione was so ecstatic that she ran to the edge clearing, eager to get her project over with. But, as she arrived at the edge of the massive field, her breath caught and her pain was momentarily forgotten. All of the sudden, a feeling of rightness spread throughout Hermione's entire body, and she had to hold back the urge to cry.

_Who knew something so beautiful was hidden this deep in the Forbidden Forest?_

It wasn't that Hermione had never seen a beautiful field before; it was the fact that she had dreamed of it. Seen it. Wanted it. Needed it. With every fiber on her being and with all of the love she had. All of the sudden, she was sent back to that fateful day in Dumbledore's office, sixty years and two months ago, where she had wished for the sight in front of her after the end of her last breath.

Finding out that this field, the one that had appeared in her hopes and dreams, actually_ existed_ caused her brain to forget everything – her pain, her worries, her sorrows, her mission – and turn to her slightly breathless enemy with a gentle smile on her lips.

"Did you know about this place before?" she asked, not bothering to hide the wonder in her voice.

Tom Riddle looked at her with his same curious stare before replying, "If I had, then we wouldn't have wasted this much time."

Hermione ignored his sarcastic comment and looked at the field once more. When she stared at a second time, she felt her sadness – the one that she had ignored the past two months – unleash itself into her body. She stared at the many varieties of flowers in the field, illuminated by the moon's glow and bending slightly in the calm wind, and felt the need to bawl uncontrollably. During the past couple of months, she had held in everything for the sake of the future. She had not mourned the dead; she had not even thought of those who have died much at all. She had just forgotten them, like Harry, Ron, and she had learned to do throughout the years, to focus and to stay sane.

She should have known that bottling up her emotions would come back to bite her eventually.

And that time had to be with Tom Riddle – Head Boy, Heir of Slytherin, and pain in her ass.

To avoid him seeing her cry, Hermione ran into the field, stopped a good distance away from her potions partner, and laid in it. Her mind was telling her that she needed a rest. She had been walking for almost three hours, and she felt as if she was on fire. Part of her was screaming that this wasn't normal behavior, but her body needed a minor reprieve from everything, in this time and the time after it.

* * *

Hermione's annoyed and bewildered partner stood at the edge of the clearing and watched the Gryffindor Girl's antics. Though he tried to brush it off, he knew that something was terribly wrong with her. Even for that mysterious lunatic, this was completely out of character.

About an hour ago, he had noticed that her voice had started to falter. She, for some odd reason, had started to sound breathless and strained. Furthermore, some of what she said made no logical sense what-so-ever. He had also noticed that her footsteps had become clunky and lazy, and he was forced to slow his pace so that she could keep up.

He had been examining her since the start of her odd behavior, and though there was nothing physically wrong, his instincts were telling him differently. And he was proven right when she, without any explanation, ran into the clearing and plopped down in it, disappearing from his view.

Shaking his head incredulously, he started to stalk towards her, determined to get to the bottom of this.

Because there was going to be definite hell to pay if he was forced to carry the girl for the rest of the trip.

* * *

Hermione heard footsteps approaching, but she didn't care. She was curled up in a ball with her eyes wide open, staring at the peculiar purple flower next to her. The only thing she cared about at the moment was that her pain was starting to ease.

But, as Tom Riddle reached her, he knew that he wouldn't care about the easing of her pain. She was facing away from him, but she could tell that she was about to receive an earful as his shadow loomed menacingly over her.

"I'm going to ask you again, Granger, and this time, you have to answer honestly. What in the bloodiest of hells is wrong with you?" asked her clearly irate Potions Partner.

It's a good thing that, by the time he had made it over there, Hermione had gotten a grip on most of her emotions. Thankfully, she also felt her pain subsiding back into a dull throb.

"Nothing, Riddle. I just really like this field," she muttered, not bothering to turn around and looking at him.

Even though her pain was beginning to dull, bearing it for more the length of time that she had had taken its toll on her body. She could now feel, at the edge of her mind, the threat of fatigue, of complete blackness.

"Typical," he scoffed, staring down at her with undisguised contempt.

"That someone could like beautiful things. Yes, Riddle, I guess it's typical," Hermione replied, annoyed. Really, the only thing her body felt like doing was lying down and staring at the flowers. She had followed him aimlessly for about three hours; couldn't he at least rest for two seconds?

"Your sense of timing is off. You apparently think we have all of the time in the world," Riddle observed, crossing his arms over his chest while scrutinizing her.

Instead of feeling like some sort of lab animal, Hermione made the choice to finally tell Riddle what was wrong with her. He would probably continue to be irritating if she didn't.

Hermione turned onto her back, and strangely, she felt as if her equilibrium was turned upside down. Ignoring the nauseating feeling, she held her hand up in front of his face. Stretching her hand up caused every part of her throbbing body to protest, but she managed to squeak out, "My hand."

When Hermione looked back on this experience, she would realize that she didn't adequately explain her plight to her counterpart.

Riddle looked at her hand with irritation. "You only have a minor cut. This can't possibly be what's wrong with you."

Hermione turned her hand and examined it with confusion. She hadn't looked at it since she had first tried to cure her inflammation, because, in her experience, looking at the injury made the pain worse. But, now, as she stared at her hand, she realized that it looked perfectly normal – and so did the rest of her arm, as a matter of fact. There was no irritation, puss, or swelling.

_How curious. _

"Yeah," she murmured, staring at her hand in wonder. "I guess it is only a minor scratch."

At her comment, Riddle let out an audible sigh of exasperation as he bent down and roughly grabbed her chin.

Hermione tried to slap him away as her mind registered his cold skin on hers. "What are you doing? Get off of me!"

"Stop and look at me. I'm only touching you out of necessity," he commanded in such a stern voice.

Hermione smirked, despite his high-handedness, and obeyed, knowing that Riddle was being intensely serious.

"How romantic, Riddle. Is that what you tell all of the girls?

Riddle's jaw tightened, but he didn't reply. As she stared back, she was annoyed to realize that she was under his scrutiny again. "Is there something wrong?" she whispered while she noticed that the coolness of his fingers were somewhat soothing to her inflamed skin.

The Head Boy dropped his hand from her chin and looked at her with disgust. "I thought you might be intoxicated."

At his confession, Hermione blinked once. Twice. Three times. And then she burst out laughing. Her abs throbbed and burned at the extra pressure she was putting on them, but Hermione's mind, dazed as it was, couldn't help but think that the situation was_ hilarious_.

"Why on Earth, Riddle, would I _inebriate_ myself before coming to the Forbidden Forest alone with a _Slytherin_. Merlin, that's like asking to just be dumped out here and left to the animals!" she exclaimed, holding her stomach as she looked up at him in mirth.

Tom Riddle was not amused. His hands were on his hips as his lips curled in disgust at her behavior. "Then what is wrong with you? You've been going completely mental since we've gotten into this forest."

Hermione kept smiling up at him. "Even if that were the case, why would you care?"

Through her pain, Hermione could still see that Tom Riddle had been caught slightly off kilter. It's not that he was betraying any emotion; he just became unnaturally still.

"I only care because Slughorn, by some misguided reason, made you my Potions partner; therefore, I was forced to bring you out here with me, which means that if you're going mad, then I'm half at fault for it. Furthermore, I would have to carry you back, and if someone caught me on patrol, then my reputation would be utterly ruined," he said as if he were answering an Arithmacy question.

_Heartless bastard. Just let me lie here while you get your heather if that's what you're worried about._

Hermione decided that the best way to get him off her back was to be honest about something else. Vaguely, in the back of her mind, Hermione's logic screamed for her to get up, get the heather, and get help. But she was so tired, and so comfortable. Talking to him was definitely the best answer.

"I'm not crazy. Not that you care, but I'm not, I promise. If you want to know the truth, I was actually skeptical about coming here," she said with, for the second time that night, no artifice in her voice.

His disdain didn't leave his face. "Why? So you wouldn't lose precious sleep or mess up your precious hair or stop your precious --."

"No, stop," Hermione said, putting her hand up to him for effect. "It was more because of you that I didn't want to come here."

By then, Hermione's eyes were heavy-lidded. The throbbing and the flames in her body became a small ache compared with the overwhelming fatigue she was feeling. Her logic was now a whisper, faintly telling her that she needed to tell him, the future Dark Lord, that she was not feeling well. Frantically, her mind also tried to tell her to stop giving in to her fatigue and her false sense of security and find a way back to Hogwarts.

But, these warnings were slight, and Hermione only wanted to lie in the field and talk to Tom Riddle.

Looking up at him, she expected him to be taken aback by her truthful comment, but he wasn't. His face, instead, fell back into his blank look. "Well that's a surprise. Listen, if we don't enjoy each other's company so much, then maybe we should hurry this along."

"I don't want to."

"Get up, Granger. At this rate, we'll be back at the school around five in the morning. That's two hours more then we intended. And frankly, I think that something --."

"Is wrong with me, I know," Hermione said, staring at him skeptically. "You're in a beautiful field, Riddle. Don't you want to sit and enjoy it?"

"We are on a deadline, Granger," Tom Riddle said through gritted teeth. If Hermione had been more aware of her surroundings, she would have noticed that his infamous jaw had tightened.

But, instead, her mind was stuck on the word deadline. She had a mission to complete, and, to her chagrin, she still had one question to ask him. The annoying little voice that had been bothering Hermione for the better part of an hour told her to wait, because now wasn't the right time. He wouldn't be receptive when he thought she was going completely mental. But, Hermione pushed that aside. She had to ask him, no matter what.

_Oh, how could I forget?_

"So much of life reminds me of a passage that I read from a book," she said, continuing as casually as she could. "Death is not the way to immortality. Survival is the only way to eternal life." She turned to look at him and tried to gauge his reaction. "Beautiful isn't it? And profound. Have you ever read that quote before?"

Even through her body feeling chemically imbalanced, Hermione could tell that Tom Riddle was tense again. "No, I haven't," he bit off, staring intensely at the girl below him.

"Oh c'mon. According to the school, you're an avid reader. You must have read this. Everyone --."

"Granger, I have never read it," he bit off again, this time harsher and more aggravated.

_Try one more time, Hermione._

"The statement is quite contrary isn't it?" she said, trying to take the intellectual approach.

Tom Riddle raised his eyebrows again, and Hermione briefly wondered if that was his only way of showing emotion.

"How so, Granger?" he asked, despite his annoyance.

"Well, you must know about the muggle beliefs of life and death?" she asked, looking at him for confirmation. He didn't answer, so Hermione decided to explain. "When you die, it is the end of the beginning. You shed your mortal life and make your way into eternal life. And, I'm positive you know that wizards speculate about this as well – whether there is life after death. The general consensus, based off of magic itself, is that there is another life after death. They also believe that there is a sort of Heaven and Hell, though they might not be called by those names."

"So, that leaves a conflict between beliefs and that quote," Tom Riddle concluded.

"At first maybe," Hermione replied tiredly, feeling the fatigue caused by her long explanation to Riddle. "But I guess it depends on how you interpret the quote. You could think of it --."

Hermione stopped abruptly. Though her body had now started to feel light and her mind was becoming fuzzy, she could still recognize that she was with the cruelest, evilest killer this world would ever see, and she was about to voice the driving thought behind his obsession with life.

"Think of it as what?" Tom Riddle asked, his voice breaking through her thoughts.

Hermione, despite her inability to keep her eyes open for long, noticed that, though his voice was still considerably guarded, there was a lighter note. Barely, just barely, Tom Riddle had allowed a small, miniscule bit of innocent curiosity seep into his voice, and Hermione was suddenly awed by how simple it was to interest him.

She had forgotten that the Lord Voldemort in her past and in his future had loved discussions about literature and philosophy. Snape was even forced to have those discussions with him all of the time. And she found it strange now to discover that this innocent interest had captured him so young.

Not strange in the sense that he was young and interested in books. There was nothing wrong with that. It was just strange that they had something in common. If Hermione had really sat down and thought about it, she would have acknowledged that they had a shared love for books. It's just that, she was light and he was dark.

They weren't supposed to have anything in common.

"No, you don't want to know, really," she assured, suddenly wanting to lock herself away. He was so unpredictable and disarming when she felt that the future Dark Lord might possibly be trying to be sincere. It made her want to close herself off from him.

_He's not being sincere_, she told herself. _He wants something._

"I really do want to know," he insisted quietly but strongly.

At his quiet statement, Hermione's short moment of insecurity was pushed aside as her thoughts sharply reminded her that she was on a mission.

She had to answer him, no matter how tired she was.

"You could say that the quote means that, in order to be immortal, you have to stay in this world and find a way to stay in it. It means staying here forever," she said, her voice a bit more breathy than she'd like.

Instead of replying immediately, the Head Boy looked thoughtful, as if he was slowly chewing on her answer. Then he asked, "Isn't that the closest and most accurate way to interpret the quote?"

_Why the sudden interest in something he's never read? _

Hermione, with a jolt, suddenly understood that her answer to his question would hold major significance. Even though she felt like she was floating and her mind was foggy, her heart was telling her that this was an opportunity. For some reason, she knew instinctually that both she and Riddle needed this discussion.

"Yes, but it is also the most obvious and least intellectual," Hermione replied, a slight smile touching her lips.

If Hermione's eyes had been opened, she would have seen Riddle's frown.

"Sometimes the most obvious answer is the right answer," he said, sounding insistent as he spouted off some more of his philosophy.

"Yes, but you can see that there are other ways to interpret it," Hermione countered while becoming painfully aware that she couldn't hide her sluggishness anymore. Her body felt so heavy now, but she had to finish. She had to. "You could also say that the quote means that you can't die an early death. You have to live a full life before reaching eternal life."

"That's ridiculous," he replied, his voice sounding distant.

"Yes, I don't quite believe in that interpretation myself," Hermione said as she tried to stifle a yawn.

_Honestly, what is wrong with me? There's something going on with my body. I need to get back to Hogwarts. _

Knowing that she barely had any energy left in her tank, she knew that she had to find the heather and leave this field. Since she started feeling ill, this moment was the first time that her mind and body were agreeing on a course of action, and she felt an urgency to take advantage of this sudden motivation before her fatigue set in again.

Opening her eyes, she looked around for Riddle.

And he was nowhere to be found.

Hermione turned frantically, surprised that she had not noticed the Head Boy's disappearance.

_Maybe he's only a few feet away. Maybe he went to go find the heather._

She attempted to get up, to see if he was only standing a few feet away. Hermione tried to stand, but her weak limbs wouldn't allow her. Hissing in frustration, she compensated by just putting her elbows under herself for support and twisting her head to search for him.

Still, he was nowhere.

Hermione's elbows gave out, and, just as abruptly, she felt a sense of abandonment wash over her senses. Here she was, weak and tired from some unknown illness she had refused to acknowledge, with no partner to help her. She felt alone, and, to make matters worse, her fatigue was getting to her.

She knew that she wouldn't be able to get up, and she knew that she would fall asleep in this field. With a sinking feeling, she truly came to terms with the fact that she had been left.

Tom Riddle had had his revenge.

And, though she knew this, it didn't stop her from calling out his name as her breathing slowed and her eyes closed and her beautiful field disappeared.

* * *

A/N: Sorry this took so long. This chapter was supposed to be super important, so I had to do it right. Plus, this chapter fell around midterm time, so I had to shift my focus on that for a while. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed.** I know that Hermione's stream of consciousness was confusing at times**, but keep in mind that she's sick, and whatever she contracted will be explained in the next chapter.

I hope you liked all of the Tomione goodness! Now, here's your chapter preview.

**Preview 1:**  
"You abandoned me, Riddle! You just left me in the field!"

"Fine, I did leave you. Whatever made you think I wouldn't leave you?"

**Preview 2:**

"Slughorn wants us to plan his Slug Club Christmas party."


	9. An Accidental Coup

**A/N: Hey guys. Sorry for the late update, but I've been super busy since my last update, and I wasn't even in the country for three months. But, right when I got back, I started writing again. So, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I would like to thank my 100th reviewer, Witch of Hades. And now, without further delay…..**

…

**The Next Day**

Over the years, as the magic of Hogwarts Castle fades slightly in lieu of homework and a monotonous, daily routine, the students and staff fail to notice the beauty of their second home. Set up at the perfect angle in the valleys of Scotland, Hogwarts manages to catch the full glory of the Scottish sunrise and the ethereal beauty of the Scottish sunset. This allows many rooms within the castle to be flooded by the brilliance of these natural phenomena. One of these rooms, one of the most underappreciated ones, was the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. Since the only wizards who frequented this room were sick or hurting or the loyal friends of the sick or hurting, they always failed to notice the first rays of the day filtering into the room in a way that made it seem extraordinarily surreal, as if the humble Hospital Wing was something out of a dream as opposed to a place that existed for stomach aches and colds and heroes who were prophesized to kill Dark Lords.

Hermione Granger – a girl who always noticed nature's beauty – normally acknowledged the wonders of the Hospital Wing in the morning light. However, she was presently too livid to care.

"WHERE IN THE BLOODIEST OF HELLS IS HE?"

She had appeared to be calmly sleeping before her outburst, so the suddenness of this question and her craziness that accompanied it had made the other Time Travelers jump in surprise.

That is, only two out of the three did. Draco Malfoy had never quite been affected by her fury. Lounging in a chair with his feet propped up on Hermione's bed, he spoke his next comment with his usual tone of ennui.

"She really does belong in the loony bin."

Harry threw him his warning glare before Hermione could launch a rebuttal. He then quickly sat on the right side of her bed and held her hand. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice full of concern.

"I'm splendid," Hermione replied curtly, "Now where is he?"

Harry opened his mouth, clearly intent on asking who this mysterious "he" character was, but he was interrupted by an extremely vigilant Mediwitch.

"WAIT JUST ONE SECOND," came a slightly shrill voice from the Hospital Wing Office. "No one talks to her until I check her."

All of the sudden, Madame Lawrence, all stern and bustling, rushed over with her supplies while simultaneously shooing the boys away. All three of them had enough experience with another certain Mediwitch from their time to know that they had no choice but to stand back and watch while she efficiently checked Hermione's vitals. Her fingers worked nimbly and, in no time at all, Madame Lawrence had written neat little checks on her clipboard and was looking at Hermione with a peculiar expression.

"Do you know what happened to you, dear?" she asked, her tone a mix of professionalism and compassion.

Hermione's mood darkened at her question. She was supposed to be well-versed in knowledge of dangerous, magical things (due to a certain danger prone, Dark Lord attracting best friend). She should have had a more intelligent answer than, "Not really."

The Mediwitch wasted no time in telling her that she had fallen prey to an Imbicus Leaf. This did not make Hermione feel any better, especially since her favorite book genre next to Arithmacy was anything about Hogwarts and its surrounding grounds. She should have known that the leaves in question could be found in abundance in the Forbidden Forest, and those who walk near them during autumn should be careful of their poison. Symptoms caused by the leaves included the sensation of throbbing, internal inflammation, delusions, reduction of logic and inhibitions, and, in its later stages, extreme fatigue and permanent internal damage.

_I should have known._

As Madame Lawrence finished examining her, she said that the good news was that she had not contracted any permanent damage from the poison. The bad news was that she had to stay in bed for the rest of the day.

Normally, this order would have been fine, since Hermione was still feeling weak and tired. However, regardless of being poisoned, she remembered that night fairly clearly, and the most vivid memory that stuck in her mind was the one where Tom Riddle had left her.

For Merlin's sake, he had just _left _her out in a field during the night chill of autumn.

But, that wasn't the worst part. The absolute, most disgraceful part was that it _bothered _her. Unbeknownst to him, he had opened a wound in Hermione's psyche, and it had festered into an infection. What irked her even more was that the festering was more due to the fact that Hermione had no idea why his leaving bothered her so much. Riddle abandoning her in the middle of the Forbidden Forest when she was clearly ill actually sounded pretty in character for the future Dark Lord.

_So then why am I so annoyed?_

"Will you stop?" asked Ron in exasperation. Hermione shook out of her reverie, not aware that she had been staring daggers in the red-head's general direction. "I feel as if you're trying to burn a hole through my forehead."

"Maybe I am," Hermione retorted darkly, deciding to continue marinating in her present mood.

Draco patted her hand. "I approve of your current activity."

Harry punched him in the arm before glaring back at Hermione reprovingly. "Listen, you just woke up from a terrible case of poisoning, and trying to mentally kill Ron, contrary to popular belief, is not going to help."

"It is helping," Hermione muttered, still glaring at Ron while continuing to mentally berate herself for being upset by Riddle's actions.

"Just tell us what happened. It'll probably help untwist your wand a bit," Draco urged, rubbing his arm from Harry's punch.

"I don't want to know anymore," Ron mumbled, put out and completely uncomfortable from being the object of Hermione's catharsis.

"Ron, shut up," Harry hushed. He then reached over and found his best friend's small hands twisted into fists under her sheets, and he placed a soothing hand on hers again. "What happened?"

Hermione felt her anger dissipating at Harry's touch. She felt the hot coils in her stomach and the tenseness (both of which she was unaware of feeling until this moment) melt away as her breathing calmed.

Looking at Harry, she exhaled heavily before saying, "He left me."

"Who?" Harry asked, worry lines appearing on his forehead.

"Riddle!" Hermione explained, her irritation flaring back up slightly.

She saw Draco's forehead wrinkle in confusion. "In the forest?"

"No, in the tundra. Yes, in the forest!" Hermione replied in a tone that implied that she was talking to someone who was particularly slow.

Draco ignored it, still looking at her in his peculiar way. "Well, are you really that surprised? He's Lord Voldemort. What did you expect him to do? Carry you?"

To Harry's consternation, Hermione's dark glare reappeared with a vengeance. "No, I didn't. It just would have been nice if he just didn't leave me in the first place."

"I'll kill him," Ron said darkly, his glare now terrible enough to match Hermione's.

Harry ignored Ron, and instead, he looked at Hermione the same way Draco had only a few seconds earlier. "Well, Hermione, if he didn't take you back, then who did?"

Hermione turned the full force of her glare onto Harry. "Well, Harry, I passed out from being poisoned when all of this was happening, so I really couldn't tell you."

"Stop your whining, Granger," Draco said, not caring much for her temper. "Harry made a good point. How the hell could you have gotten out of there?"

"I don't know, Draco," Hermione replied, exasperated. "All I know was that I woke up here, and that stupid prat was obviously not the one who brought me."

Draco was about to ask her another question when Harry stopped him with a raise of his hand, telling the Slytherin to drop it. Instead, he asked what he deemed was a more relevant question.

"Did you get any information?"

Hermione chewed on her lip, deep in thought. She supposed she did. After all, Riddle's manner had been a lot freer when he had been in the Forbidden Forest with her.

She thought back to the way they had bantered, a bit like Draco and she had at the beginning of their Head Boy/Girl relationship. It had been almost normal. It was as if they were just teenagers that didn't like each other as opposed to mortal enemies. She had been on her guard the whole night, but, in spite of recent events, she had been unafraid. That had been an obvious mistake.

"I guess you can say that I did," Hermione replied, still pondering over the strange path her thoughts had taken. "He didn't give himself away, but he, in his round-about and melodramatic way, revealed some bits and pieces."

"Please spare us the suspense, Hermione. Do go on," Draco urged.

Hermione decided to start with the less complex. "Riddle went to Dippet and manipulated him into letting me be the next Gryffindor Prefect."

Appropriately, all three boys looked confused.

Harry decided to take one for the team and ask the obvious question. "Why?"

Hermione's arm flailed slightly in a show of irritation. "Merlin knows. Just the other day, he would have done whatever it took to make sure that I wasn't even in walking distance of a fellow Prefect. And now, he's gone and changed his mind."

"Well, when this happened in the future, Lord Voldemort usually found another way to thwart the powers of good while killing innocent people," Harry thought aloud.

"So, are you saying that his seventeen-year-old self is trying to achieve the watered-down version of that plan?" asked Ron.

"Of course not," Draco scoffed. "Clearly you three haven't been observant enough over the last seven years." When the Trio stared back at him expectantly, he executed one of his dramatic sighs before explaining, "He's assessing her. Testing her, if you will. Something about Hermione has sparked his interest, and he wants to see what type of person she is before deciding what to do with her."

"He has a subtle way of going about this," Hermione murmured uneasily, not comfortable with the fact that her Prefectship was a guise for one of Tom Riddle's experiments.

"That doesn't matter," Draco said matter-of-factly. "Whatever you do, make sure you prove yourself worthy. Or, at the very least, keep his interest."

"But how can -."

"Alright, well there's nothing we can do about it now," Harry interrupted. He was in leader mode. It was a rare occurrence, but when it happened, there was no disrupting him. "It won't be too hard to do some damage control within our own House. We're just going to have to spread the fact that Riddle was the one who wanted you to be a Prefect. House Relations are really strained in this time as well, so no one will suspect any behind-the-scenes foul play between the two of you."

"What are you -."

"You know exactly what I'm implying, Hermione. And second, Draco, you're going to have to spread the rumor. Since you and Hermione aren't considered friends in the public eye, then it'll seem more legitimate if you're the one spreading it," Harry instructed in battle strategy tone.

"Sounds like a good plan, Harry, except that'll definitely not put me in good standing with our dear Head Boy," Draco countered.

"You've tried being nice to him, and he hasn't noticed you," Harry pointed out. "It's time we try something different."

Draco nodded his head in agreement before turning back to Hermione. "So, my favorite bushy-haired woman, what else have you got?"

Hermione was skeptical about replying. She knew that she had gained some ground, but she didn't necessarily have anything else to add. "Nothing else happened. And don't give me that look, Draco. He detests me, remember? If anything, I discovered some interesting character points that we should all keep in mind."

"Points we don't know?" Draco asked pointedly.

"Of course," she snapped. "Anyway, I discovered that Tom Riddle is less adverse to conversing with me than we thought."

As the three somewhat disappointed boys stared back at her, Hermione felt guilty. She knew in her mind that she was withholding information from them. For some reason, she couldn't tell them about the philosophical discussion she had with Riddle. Sure, re-quoting something he said in a Death Eater meaning had been somewhat reckless on her part, and she knew that she would get lightly reprimanded for it. But that didn't bother her. She couldn't even remember the whole thing. All she knew was that Tom Riddle was a fan of philosophy and, for some reason, she felt as if she had to keep that to herself.

….

Hermione had regained her strength faster than she had anticipated. After her talk with the boys, she had all sorts of thoughts running through her head.

How in the world had Dippet ever let her Prefectship happen?

_How did I get back to Hogwarts?_

_Why couldn't I tell the boys everything?_

_Why am I so annoyed with Riddle?_

_What is going on in this school?_

These questions had filled her with a restless energy, and, come three in the afternoon, she needed to get out. She had things to do. As soon as she was able to coerce the well-meaning Mediwitch to let her out of bed early, she made her way to the man on whom she blamed for all of her misfortunes.

_First stop. Dippet's Office. _

"Headmaster," she greeted rather coldly as she barged into said offending wizard's office.

"Miss Granger," he greeted cheerfully, paying no heed to Hermione's mood. "I was going to summon you tomorrow to congratulate you on your wonderful rise in the Hogwarts hierarchy."

Hermione sat without being invited, her ire too inflamed to be courteous. "I was hoping to talk to you about that."

"Yes?" he inquired, and the slightly vindictive side of Hermione's personality was satisfied by the way Dippet said it – as if he knew she was coming.

"I never agreed to this," she said forcefully, not wasting time. "And school rules state that both parties have to be in agreement for the post to be appointed."

"Yes, yes, that is the rule Miss Granger. You are marvelously versed in this school's rules. However," he countered, the 'however' hanging in the air before he continued. "Tom Riddle was very adamant about you rising to the Prefect post, so he found the exception to the rule."

_Tom Riddle was adamant about me having this position? What makes me so interesting that he would stoop that low?_

Hermione tried not to wrinkle her nose in disgust by how the Headmaster had a clear favorite as far as students were concerned. "And what was this exception?" she asked while she mentally prepared herself to counter anything Tom Riddle put on the table.

"There was one instance in history where no one wanted the Prefect position. Well, as you well know, each Prefect plays a vital role in the mechanics of this school. That's why the great Headmasters before me chose this specific number, and, what the Headmaster says is law of the school unless removed by the Headmaster him or herself."

"I don't want to be rude Headmaster, but I know all of this. What is the exception that made me a Prefect?" she pushed, having difficulty keeping the venom from her voice.

"The exception is in the process. Should the Head Boy or Girl nominate a candidate for the Prefect position, their candidature will be submitted to the other peers and be voted on through a democratic process. And, the Prefects agreed on you," the Headmaster finished with finality.

The Gryffindor Girl who, unknown to everyone but her two closest friends, had quite an imagination. She envisioned Tom Riddle holding all of his Prefects at wand-point while they put ballots with her name into the box. Her imagination was probably not far from the truth either.

"Just to be clear," Hermione bit out, having greater trouble censoring her anger, "I was submitted to a vote without my consent."

"You didn't know about it?" the Headmaster asked, genuinely confused.

"Of course not," Hermione replied, letting some of her indignation finally seep through.

"Delaney confirmed that you did," Dippet said, more as a nonchalant afterthought than a legitimate concern.

Well, if there was anything Hermione knew about Delaney Hunt, is that she quite possibly had a hidden obsession with Tom Riddle and the she was extremely stubborn. That coupled with her sterling reputation and her Head Girl status all but officially stamped Hermione's introduction back into Hogwart's student leadership.

_Well, if I have to be a Prefect, I might as well make Riddle's life a living hell while I'm at it._

…

**8:00 PM, The Same Day**

Hermione sat in the third row of the classroom with her lips pursed and her eyes defiant. Now that she was forced into this position, she, along with the boys, decided that she might as well accept her new rise to fame. Being a closet Witch Weekly fan, Draco knew how to spread gossip quickly and efficiently while adding an element of pity to Hermione's side of the story. Like magic, the Gryffindors all came to Hermione that morning at breakfast and pity-patted her.

"_Oh, Hermione, how dare he force you into this position?"_

"_It was very fair of you to refuse. Too bad you punching him in the face didn't stop him from doing it."_

"_I can't believe he still made you a Prefect after you transfigured his pants into a shark. Good idea about the shark by the way. I would have never thought to do that!"_

"_He must be in love with you. Oooo, all of those Slytherin girls must be insanely jealous."_

Harry, Ron, and she had a couple of good eye rolls at some of these comments, because they were evidence of Draco's flare for dramatics. Nevertheless, Hermione couldn't fully enjoy them. The rumors were funny, for sure, but Hermione couldn't help but think that once they reached Riddle, people would start mysteriously disappearing for spreading them.

Not that she cared about what he thought at this moment.

As she watched the other Prefects file in, she felt her ire rise anew. He was so domineering and condescending. He acted as if the whole world would bend to his will without any consequences. Does he honestly think that leaving her out in the cold and making her do things against her will would come without retaliation?

Well, not retaliation per say. Hermione was not one to be outright vengeful unless the situation warranted it (like the Umbridge incident). She did take pride in being a nice, rule adhering individual the majority of the time. Be that as it may, a trait that she kept well hidden from most of Hogwarts was that she was not against being passive aggressive. None of what she did during these passive aggressive moods was shocking enough to warrant any attention; however, given the circumstances, maybe it was time for her to be a little more obvious.

_Just obvious enough to catch his attention. _

As she pasted a smile on her face, most of the Prefects came over and greeted her. They had heard the various rumors about Hermione's refusal, and as they welcomed her, they had that same look of pity in their eyes. The Lioness in her felt satisfied. She did not know how she would act during this meeting, but she hoped that their pity would save her if she went so far as to annoy Riddle.

Just as everyone took their seats and settled down, Riddle walked in, followed by a breeze reminiscent of the one that constantly made Snape's robes billow wherever he went. He looked immaculate, as usual, and Hermione wondered whether he took time to plan his dramatic entrances. Not noticing that he was the object of Hermione's dark gaze, he turned, held the door open for Delaney, and then shut it behind her.

The Gryffindor quickly surveyed her 1940s Head Girl counterpart. She looked less formidable in the light then she did in the dimness of the Restricted Section. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her eyes were already narrowed. Regardless, she somehow managed not to look as severe as her partner.

And really, who could ever look more severe than someone who was perpetually unhappy?

"Let's get down to business," she began without preface. "I want everyone to welcome Hermione Granger, newly appointed Gryffindor Prefect."

As Delaney extended her arm toward her, the room was filled with a light pattering of applause.

After it died down, Delaney went on to the next order of business. "Now, for the remainder of your rounds this upcoming year, you are not to ignore any snogging of any kind in any remote area of the castle. You are to report every incident. Friends or otherwise, it is your duty to -."

Hermione didn't think that these reprimands applied to her, so she took some time to covertly examine the Head Boy. He was standing slightly behind his counterpart and leaning casually on the empty teacher's desk. However, his arms were crossed over his chest, and his eyes were sharp and surveying the room, the same look that McGonagall had when she was presiding over NEWTs testing. The way he looked at them made Hermione feel as if she was part of a herd.

"Now," Delaney finished, a little breathless from her long rant, "Riddle has some upcoming events to discuss with you."

That piqued Hermione's interest. Despite not being particularly girly, she liked planning social events. It appealed to the side of her that liked to organize. She also knew that this would be the best time to exact her revenge. Sitting up straighter and crossing her legs, she prepared to give Riddle her full attention. She also chanced a look around the room to gauge whether the other Prefects were as enthusiastic as she.

With alarm, Hermione noticed that everyone had shifted when Riddle took to the stage. Her eyes observed that they did not move to get into a more comfortable position; they sat up straighter, their eyes looked more alert, and there was no hint of a smile on anyone's lips.

_He really knows how to command a room_, Hermione thought, somewhat horrified. Even though most of these people will end up fighting him in the future, they were still subject to his power and charisma as teenagers_. He's as much of a dictator now as he will be in the future._

Refusing to appeal as intimidated as her peers, Hermione slouched. It felt unnatural, but she felt slightly justified in her actions. She also mentally prepared herself. Though she didn't know what she was going to do, she knew that she would recognize the window of opportunity when it presented itself.

With everyone of her limbs ready to pounce, she watched as Tom Riddle conjured a list and held it in front of him. "As tradition requires, we are to create a catering list for the Halloween Feast, and we need to form a team to decorate the Great Hall the afternoon before the feast."

Fondly reminiscing on the time she supervised the Halloween Feast decorating, she was surprised to hear a collective groan from the other Prefects.

"Oh, c'mon," Delaney spoke up. "These tasks are simple. There is nothing laborious about them."

"Hunt," a Ravenclaw Prefect spoke up, "You know perfectly well why we all groaned in unison."

"No, I don't, Timothy," Delaney replied frostily, looking down her nose at him. "Do explain."

"We serve terrible food," the other seventh year Gryffindor Prefect, Sebastian, chimed in. "All of that food ends up uneaten every year, and guess who has to eat the leftovers? We do."

"It's not terrible -."

"Oh stop it, Hunt," interrupted Abraxas Malfoy. "Even you couldn't stomach that poor excuse for a pudding last year."

_If he agrees against the Head Boy's wishes, then the food must be disgusting._

"The previous Headmaster wanted the school to not overindulge at this feast," Hunt said matter-of-factly. "And I happen to agree with him."

Despite Delaney not being Hermione's favorite person in the world, she had to grudgingly respect her for not losing her cool. The other Prefects were blatantly disagreeing with her in a meeting setting. Even on her most self-assured days, Hermione would find this situation quite daunting. And were the Prefects being unreasonable? Was it right of her to refuse them? There's only one way to know for sure.

"What exactly is served at the feasts?" she asked loudly enough to be heard over the disagreeable murmurings in the room.

"Oh, terrible things," a Hufflepuff replied. The strawberry blonde turned in her seat to face Hermione and executed a perfectly theatrical disgusted face. "Last year, I tried a dish that looked like it had candy in it, but it was only decoration. The only thing left in the serving plate that wasn't decoration was the over-cooked chicken. No sauce, nothing. Just chicken."

"Nothing has sauce on it," another Hufflepuff continued, mirroring her friend's position. "Every meal we have has all of the sauce we want except for the Halloween feast. I just don't understand it."

"And, there's never any dessert. Ever," another Gryffindor added solemnly.

"Well," Hermione pondered, feeling that these students took their Halloween feast very seriously. Though, her logic concluded that they did have a right to complain. Good food didn't seem like too much to ask. "Have you tried talking to Headmaster Dippet?"

After her question, she could feel the disapproving vibes pouring off of the two Heads. She saw Riddle open his mouth to silence the Prefects, but everyone, including the Slytherins, had something to say about this issue.

"We've tried."

"We've begged."

"I produced my best fake cry."

"I tried to make him taste one of the dishes and he just wouldn't budge!"

"I tempted him with pastries."

"Alright stop," Hermione said with a raise of her hand. Dimly, she registered that she had commandeered the attention of everyone in the room. Not what she had in mind, but it did seem like it was irritating Riddle immensely.

She smiled inwardly. It was almost criminal how naturally this opportunity had presented itself. Hermione knew that she had no choice but to run with it.

"Were you all organized when you asked him?" she continued, her voice sounding more sure.

"Not really," Sebastian replied, "By the time we decided to mobilize last year, it was too late."

Her sensibilities tried not to giggle at the use of the word mobilize. She _had_ to help them if they had to go so far as to "mobilize" against this feast. However, she needed to be careful. Hermione didn't know when Hogwarts had started to serve good food again for the Halloween feast, but she knew that, according to the rules of time, she couldn't be the one who changes anything. The ideas for this change had to come from someone else's mind. She could not lead it.

But, her hours of research also knew that there was nothing wrong with subtly pushing them in the right direction.

Making a show of pondering their dilemma, she waited a couple of seconds before asking, "Well, it's early enough now, right?"

Timothy nodded. "Yes, it is. Maybe if we get organized now -."

"Yes, that's perfect," Hermione encouraged. She had to admit that that hadn't been too subtle, but she had to let him know that he was headed in the right direction. They shouldn't be so afraid to contradict their Heads.

"No, it is not. We cannot change -."

Hermione ignored him, as did the other Prefects. She was too intent on accomplishing her goal, and they were too intent on contradicting Riddle. Although, in spite of her own intentions, she couldn't help but wonder at the people around her. Their energy surprised her. It was as if their ideas had been repressed, and now was the time that they were finally able to have a say.

"What can you do to organize this?" Hermione asked the others. She vaguely acknowledged that Riddle looked stiffer than he had at the beginning of the meeting, but her mind had temporarily gone elsewhere. Does the sharing of ideas not occur very much under this Head Boy and Girl's reign?

"We can start a petition!"

"And we can come up with a catering list with the cost of all the food, so that we have a plan!"

"That sounds excellent!" They were so excited that it was starting to rub off on her.

"Granger, you have no right to -."

"We could also get really creative with the decorations."

"Give something for the others to look at while they enjoy a tasty meal. Good idea! I like it," she said with a smile.

"Granger, this is not the time to -."

Once again, Hermione paid no attention to that familiar cynical baritone. What she had observed during this meeting had engaged her compassionate heart. Riddle had shot down every one of their ideas. And, if his character holds true, he probably did the same at every meeting. That's probably why she practically smelled the fear in the room when Riddle had first stood in front of them. She didn't think that it was okay to feel this way, and, from how the other Prefects were acting, she knew that they agreed.

"What if we conjure images of live bats?"

"And time them to the Halloween music!"

"And we could also decorate the tables."

"And you should make the decorations obvious so that no one mistakes them for food."

"What do the Heads think? Is this a good idea?"

Everyone stopped their chatter to stare expectantly at Hunt and Riddle. Hermione had to stop herself from cringing at 1) the fact that Riddle now had an opportunity to oppose and 2) the Head Boy and Girl's expressions. The Head Girl looked extremely uncomfortable, and she was nervously playing with her long, dark locks. Her face was scrunched in a worried look, and she was giving Riddle a nervous sideways glance, as if he was a ticking time bomb. Contrary to his counterpart's demeanor, Riddle was inscrutable. There was no way to tell what he was thinking.

If the Time Travelers knew one thing about Tom Riddle, it was that he was the most dangerous when he was expressionless.

Hermione decided that since she started this awkward situation, she might as well finish it. Judging by how the others acted, she knew that they rarely opposed him, and Hermione wasn't about to let Riddle steal their thunder.

"These are good ideas, Riddle. They're definitely worth trying."

"Despite the quality of these ideas, Hunt and myself will not attempt to change tradition. Not this year," he replied, his voice firm while still retaining his monotone. Hermione knew enough about him at this point to realize that he expected no arguments.

And she couldn't help but be outraged. What's wrong with changing the catering for a Halloween feast and allowing fellow peers to be creative? She was torn. She shouldn't be intervening this much. But this side of him was Lord Voldemort, through and through. If Hermione didn't stand for it in the future, she definitely wouldn't stand for it in the past.

"Oh c'mon, Riddle. Halloween is supposed to be fun. Let us try something new." Hermione made sure her voice sounded sweet and imploring, but her eyes were challenging. They were daring him to contest. He would have, too, had it not been for Delaney.

"Your ideas don't sound so bad," she said, not without difficulty. "Riddle, it's just a catering list and a few decorations." She looked at him then and visibly winced. He was clearly not pleased with her easy defeat.

"Enough," Riddle hissed at Delaney, his tone authoritarian enough to halt the whispering that Delaney had caused. "That is enough. We will not change anything. It is tradition for a certain type of food to be served at the Feast, and I will not break it."

As Hermione heard someone whisper "We'll just do it without him," she couldn't help but feel the smallest of smug smiles tugging at her lips. She could also feel Tom Riddle's blaringly obvious glare, but her small victory allowed her to stare daringly back without fear. This probably infuriated him, but her grievances against him were too great now. She was past the point of caring.

His glare disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared. No one had seemed to notice the exchange, and it allowed him to move seamlessly to the next topic. "Professor Slughorn wants us to plan his annual Christmas Party. Of course, the party is exclusive. It is only for us and for the others who receive an invitation and -."

"Can we bring dates this year?" a Slytherin girl asked innocently. "My boyfriend won't be invited, and I refuse to go with someone who is invited."

Hermione reflected that if Tom Riddle was the type to sigh and curse the world for his misfortune, he would have done so this instant. Everyone instinctively knew that he was not in the mood for another interruption; however this girl didn't seem to care. And, as Hermione saw Riddle pause for a split second, she knew that she needed to be friends with that girl. Slytherin or not.

"Dates aren't included if they don't have an invitation," Riddle replied firmly. He still looked calm and collected but Hermione got the impression that if everyone else wasn't in the room, he would hex blonde, Slytherin girl for interrupting him.

Hermione was not afraid to join her. She had already countered him once for being unjust, and she would do it again. Dear Merlin, everyone in her time thought that she was extremely uptight, but Riddle just takes the cake. He was as unmovable as a mountain and as unfair as prejudice.

"Why aren't they allowed to bring the boyfriends or girlfriends?" Hermione asked, not feigning her confusion. Honestly, has he never had a girlfriend?

Actually, he probably hasn't, and if he did have one, she would definitely be included in the Slug Club.

"I should think that should be obvious," Riddle replied smoothly. To the others, he sounded like he was simply answering her question, but she detected the tone he used with her when he was refusing her suggestions. Condescending and final.

"It is," Hermione assured. "It just seems unjust is all."

"It's _Professor Slughorn's_ party," he emphasized. "If it bothers you, then you should respectfully take it up with him."

"Riddle," the Slytherin girl interrupted again, "It would make more sense if you intervened on our behalf. You're his favorite. Everyone knows it."

_That's it. I have to be friends with her._

"I will not. This matter is too trivial for me to even think of intervening," he replied stiffly.

"We always vote," suggested Constance Reese, Hufflepuff Prefect. "We should vote on this."

"That's ridicu-."

"Yes, we should vote. That's the fairest way of doing things. We should all have equal say in the matter," Hermione supported. He had been about to say that voting was ridiculous. He had not even consulted any of the Prefects or his counterpart.

She didn't want to cause too much trouble, but she just couldn't stand by and watch Riddle oppress her peers.

"As Heads of this school, Hunt and I -."

"Why can't we put this to a vote? We are all a part of the student leadership. Hermione's right. We should all have a right to express our opinion," Constance said confidently.

"And, as I understand it, being the Head Boy or Girl does not mean you have final say in event planning," Hermione added smartly while leveling her gaze back on Riddle.

At her words, the Prefects' murmurs started to slowly increase in volume until they became a roar. Riddle looked positively irate, which, Hermione had come to learn, meant that he was livid. Delaney just looked more ready to sprint out of the classroom then to defend Riddle. And the others were riled up.

Hermione broke her stare at Tom Riddle and looked around, mildly surprised at what she had inspired. She had only meant to be annoying and under-handed; she hadn't meant to plant the seeds of discontent that deeply.

But she had, and now the air had shifted. She recognized the change from her days in the war. It was the anger that came after the loss. It was the determination that coursed through every person that acknowledged the unfairness of the world. It was pungent, thick. All-consuming.

Hermione had accidentally put revolution in the air.

Left and right, the Prefects were shaking their heads and banning together against the Head Boy. They were tired of not being heard. Hermione didn't know whether to be proud or mortifed.

_Oops._

"We should get a say!"

"Yeah!"

"That's right!"

"And we should be able to make decisions about this. Merlin, this is for parties. We're not changing protocol!"

"Yes!"

"I agree!"

"All in favor of changing the catering list, say 'Aye,'" Sebastian yelled, practically punching the air as he raised his fisted hand enthusiastically.

"Aye," the Prefects replied in unison.

"Aye," Hermione said weakly.

She had not thought this through. She only wanted to prick him slightly. She hadn't wanted to bulldoze over him. Now, Riddle would most likely try to confront her, because Merlin knew he was the confrontational type. Then, she would bite back, and then where would that put the Time Travelers? Not any closer to their goal.

How had everything gotten so out of control?

"All in favor of asking Slughorn to let us invite dates outside of his Club!"

"Aye." Hermione didn't even attempt to join in on that one.

"ENOUGH!" Tom yelled.

Well, he hadn't yelled precisely. His voice did increase in volume, but it wasn't what Hermione would classify a yell. It was more of a forceful push of air through the throat, but definitely not a yell. It was a tone that an army officer gave his fellow soldier or one that a jockey gave his horse.

The Prefects all froze, their eyes wide and horrified. Hermione registered that Riddle must rarely raise his voice, and this occurrence must mean that Riddle was angry. But instead of fearing him like her peers, the dislike Hermione had for Riddle intensified. He treated the Prefects like cattle. It was as if he was the only person in the room with a brain, and his job was to think and act for the others.

Hermione crossed her arms and her eyes turned to copper, hard and cold. His eyes were already steely, and as their glares connected, they both knew that something was coming.

"Everybody out," he commanded, his glare unwavering and his tone final.

She could feel the fear in the air as she watched every single last one of the Prefects dutifully file out with Delaney at the rear.

_This is not okay._

Riddle went and shut the door to the classroom with a decisive click before turning around slowly to face her. His jaw was tightened to the point where there was no softness to his bone structure. His steely gray eyes hit Hermione like a brick, because for the first time, they were not holding back any of his malice towards her. She had gone too far for him to handle.

Tom Riddle was mad.

"Do you not understand how to behave in a meeting?" he asked without preamble, his voice as cold and as sharp as chipped ice.

"I do," Hermione said, still waiting for the storm to come. She had known that some sort of confrontation would come, but she had only wanted a light tap on the wrist in the safety of Dippet's office. She had not wanted a lashing in a classroom alone with Tom Riddle. Hermione's fight or flight instincts took hold, and she found herself standing and subtly reaching for her wand.

"I was merely asking questions and providing suggestions," she explained, trying to keep him talking.

"But do you understand how to be a Prefect?" he asked, his voice only growing colder. He started advancing then, his hands casually linked behind his back.

Hermione couldn't help but bristle at that. "Yes, I am perfectly aware, despite the fact that this post was given to me _against_ my will," she replied frostily, her stare matching the intensity of his.

"Regardless, why on Earth would you blatantly undermine not only my authority, but the Head Girl's as well, in front of the entire student leadership of this school," he hissed, his voice now dangerously quite.

_Tread carefully_, _Hermione. And try to find a way to grasp for your wand without him noticing._

"I was merely throwing out ideas," Hermione replied, folding her arms in front of her chest. "You know, trying to contribute."

Tom Riddle stopped and straightened then. "Throwing out ideas? If your definition of throwing out ideas is pushing aside tradition and then making all of the Prefects hold on to these lavish, unrealistic thoughts, then you're never allowed to throw out ideas. Ever. Again."

"You can't limit my freedom of speech," Hermione said incredulously. Honestly, how _dare_ he? Was he so power hungry that he wouldn't even let a bunch of teenagers plan a meal? "And what they want is perfectly realistic and understandable. Merlin, good food at a feast? How dare they have such dreams?"

"I'm Head Boy. I'm allowed to discipline all of my Prefects. Including you," he said, as if his statement was magical law rather than just a sad attempt to showcase his superiority.

"'Your Prefects' have minds of their own, and you shouldn't treat them like some sort of subhuman, unintelligent species," she snapped at him. "Some of them are _your age. _Your age! I've read the rules for Head Boy duties, and you are only to discipline them when they don't do their job. Not when they want to invite dates to a party."

As she maintained her glare on his humorless face, Hermione's afterthoughts couldn't help but think that he probably wasn't very much fun at parties.

Standing her ground, she stared at him defiantly. He didn't reply. Instead, a steady calm settled in the atmosphere, and Hermione found herself at a staring stalemate with the man she was meant to destroy. If she was simply a bystander watching this exchange, she would describe it as the strangest face-off she had ever witnessed. This wasn't brute force against brute force.

It was intelligence versus intelligence, Snake versus Lion, hiss versus roar.

Riddle resembled the creature that represented his House; he looked calm but calculating with his head cocked to the side and his eyes observing her countenance. His body, deceptively still, was prepared to strike. In contrast, Hermione looked like the absolute epitome of a Lioness. Her mane – dark, unruly curls – flowed gloriously down her back as her eyes flashed with warning. Her stance was one of pride and elegance, but the energy surrounding her bespoke of the terror she could unleash.

But, they continued staring, because, for some reason, they both knew they were teetering on a dangerous precipice.

Hermione inwardly felt awkward. She briefly reflected that Harry's stalemates with Voldemort had usually been epic, with a lot of blood and a lot of magic; and here she was, just having a staring contest with the younger version.

She was so close to just saying her goodbyes and leaving, viewing the fight as a lose-lose. So close. But, at the very last second, right as she was turning to leave, Riddle had to take that dive off of their metaphorical precipice into the subject that both of them had subconsciously tried to avoid.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked bluntly, all pretenses gone.

Hermione's mouth twisted ironically at his questions. Did he honestly not know? She had tried to avoid the subject, and she had even managed to bypass it when Harry, Ron, and Draco hounded her with questions; but at least she hadn't planned on hiding on the off chance that either one of them broached the subject. All she wanted to do was let it slide. She just wanted to harbor this tiny grudge as a reminder of the terrible human being that he was.

But now that they were talking about it, he was going to act like he didn't do anything?

As she inhaled deeply and tried to calm her rancor, she reflected that she had actually been angry with Riddle. Not upset, not annoyed, not confused. Just angry. And it wasn't that she had expected him to carry her back or alert anyone about her sickness. It's just that, Hermione had always believed that human nature was good. She had always thought that environment and experiences was what turned out the few bad apples of the world. Her mind had also acknowledged that in spite of everything she knew about him, Tom Riddle was still somewhat human in this time; and, because of that, she had foolishly expected him to, at the very least, put a warming charm on her. He was smart after all. She was sure that he eventually deduced what was wrong with her.

Her logic had reasoned that he would be curious enough to know what was wrong with her. Once he scanned her with his wand and figured it out, wouldn't that human part of him have reacted? Even just a little? The laws of Soul Magic were clear. Tom Riddle was less human, but he was not that demon from the future yet. Hermione had subconsciously accepted this fact, and she supposed that she was mad at him for making her question her beliefs on human nature.

"You seriously don't know?" Hermione drawled, finally ready to unleash her fury. He had forced her hand. He had raised the topic. And now, that bastard was going to talk about it whether he liked it or not.

"No, I don't know," he replied coolly.

_Arrogant prat._

"Riddle, you left me in the woods. You just left me!" Hermione said as her breath, to her minor embarrassment, became erratic from all of her pent up anger. Her brain only had a second to be shocked that she had actually been angry before she doggedly continued. "I could have been killed by the creatures that inhabit that forest or I could have frozen to death or I could have never found my way back or I could have -."

"Stop," he said so forcefully that Hermione tripped over the rest of her rant.

To her annoyance, she did stop to look at him inquisitively. What she saw was alarming. His features were the blankest she had ever seen them.

"Who brought you back?" he asked calmly, with an edginess that Hermione couldn't place.

"I…I don't know," Hermione replied, her voice faltering.

"I know you had a tracking charm on you. I could feel the magic surrounding you. Did your little friends come for you?"

Hermione swallowed. "No."

"Then how," he drawled as he advanced towards her, "Did you end up safely in the Hospital Wing with no permanent repercussions from that poison? It does cause permanent damage, by the way, if its not healed within six hours."

"I don't know, and if I did know, I wouldn't tell you," Hermione said, annoyed with herself now for not knowing the answers to his questions.

"Tell me, Granger," he continued, now circling her. "Did I have the heather before you passed out?"

Hermione quickly thought to her last memory. She remembered that they were talking, and she remembered that he was just staring at her. But no heather. She didn't remember heather.

"I don't believe you did."

"So then, since your logic is supposedly unparalleled by anyone here, why would I leave without retrieving it?"

He abruptly stopped in front of her, his eyebrows raised. Hermione stared back at him, first in anger then in confusion and then, to her dismay, in realization.

_Why would he leave? He wouldn't, would he?_

Riddle now stared at her in satisfaction. "I can see you understand now."

Hermione couldn't believe it. Despite everything, she couldn't. Hadn't he proved her wrong? Hadn't he shown that he wasn't good? He was less human than everyone else. He didn't do anything without expecting something back. What was his motive? What was his goal?

"I don't believe you. You just left me!" she blurted without thinking. Her thoughts had been racing, and she was in shock. She hadn't meant to show him her emotions.

The Gryffindor was so accustomed to studying Riddle that she noticed every inch of his jaw tense in the tell tale sign of his rage. He abruptly turned from her, his footsteps sharp and deliberate as he headed towards the door. He unlocked it and made to leave, but, as an afterthought, he turned towards her.

Hermione felt a shift then. A strange little shift, similar to the one she felt with him that night in the Restricted section. Except, instead of feeling like she had gained some ground, this felt as if she was losing it.

"Fine, I did leave you. Whatever made you think I wouldn't leave you?" he said dismissively before swiftly walking out and shutting the door behind him.

Hermione stood there, utterly stunned. She stood there until the echo of his footsteps disappeared, and she stood there quite a while afterward.

_What had just happened?_

…..

**A/N: R/R. Tell me what you liked and didn't like. Once again, sorry for the late update, and I'll start thanking reviewers in the next chapter.**


	10. The Pursuit of Happiness

**Sorry for the long wait! Thank you so much for reading. I won't put reader responses up for this chapter, because I really want to get this posted. It's not edited as much as I would like, but I hope you enjoy the new installment!**

…..

**Friday October 29****th****, 4:23 in the afternoon**

On a quiet Thursday afternoon, Hermione had found herself in an unusual situation. She had been sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room by herself and trying to finish an essay when she heard someone plop down in the seat next to her.

"So, how've you been, Hermione?"

Hermione gave Ron a baffled side-glance. "What do you mean? You see me every day."

"What I mean to say is exactly what I said. How've you been?" Ron asked again in the same tone of voice.

The red-head was now subjected to a full frontal baffled look. "You're being weird today."

Ron blew an exasperated sigh. "Can't a man just get a simple answer to his question?"

Hermione mimicked his sigh. "Of course he can. It's just that you rarely ask how I am. Usually, you just know or you're completely oblivious."

"Well, I'll have you know that we – we meaning team Ron and Hermione – haven't been alone in a really long time. And before, we had Ron and Hermione time often, especially when Harry was in one of his 'the-World-is-on-my-shoulders-and-I-need-to-mope-about-it-for-a-little-bit' moods," Ron pointed out matter-of-factly.

_Oh, so that's where he's going with this._

She smiled. "Well in that case, I'm great. Thank you for asking."

Ron wasn't satisfied and continued to look at her expectantly.

Some of Hermione's exasperation returned. "What?"

"We've been friends for eight years, and the only thing I get is an 'I'm great?'"

Unwanted, thoughts and events that she had guiltily kept from her friends spilled to the forefront of her mind. And, just to spite her, those thoughts were all narrated by a cynical baritone.

'_Who brought you back?'_

'_Would I have left without retrieving the heather?'_

'_Fine, I did leave you.'_

Snapping out of it, she threw Ron an affectionate eye-roll. "Well, nothing of interest is going on with me. Classes are easier than they were last year, because I know the material already. And, if I was making any progress in the most important aspect of my life, you would already know."

"How hard is it to make progress?" Ron asked vaguely, mindful of the possibility of curious Gryffindors.

Hermione was surprised to see that he was genuinely curious. And her smile brightened. The new defenses she unconsciously built around herself thawed slightly. "It's incredibly difficult," she half-whispered. Her voice sounded so world weary, it was barely recognizable. "I'm frustrated, because I have no knowledge on how to go about this. And you know how I feel about blind missions."

Ron simply nodded, and Hermione found herself surprisingly grateful. In the past seven years of their friendship, Ron had only been understanding on a handful of occasions. In a way, it was their shared secret. He wasn't as dense or as unconsciously unfeeling as some people thought, and, especially since Hermione had been feeling alone lately, this moment made her self-imposed burden seem a little lighter.

"Well, what's so hard about it?"

Hermione turned to him, her body fully engaged in their conversation. "Well, I have all of this information on Riddle, but I can never seem to put it to good use. The list of questions I have in my head always lengthens, never shortens. And for some reason, I feel as if all three of you are relying on me."

Ron appeared thoughtful. "Well, honestly, Harry and I didn't expect you to get much done, and we don't hold it against you. I mean, you have to get in with him from scratch. And as for your list of questions, have you met Harry Potter? You should know from experience that this is normal when trying to solve a mystery."

"I know, it's just I've always been the solver, and I haven't been solving. It's making me feel inadequate," she confided.

Ron patted her hand in his brotherly way. "Well, I don't know how to make you feel better about that, since, you know, I'm not the best when it comes to girl emotions; however, I can tell you that the three of us aren't completely relying on you."

Hermione felt surprised again. She knew that all three of the boys had side projects, but lately, she felt that they had been feeling isolated because she felt that her position with Riddle had designated her, by default, as the primary figure in their plot.

Seeing the confusion on his best friend's face, Ron quickly continued. "What I mean is that we've been collecting bits and pieces, too, so we know that what you have to do is not as straightforward as you want it to be. And no, we haven't been keeping things from you. There's just been nothing important going on lately."

Hermione's analytical mind was now at work. Before continuing, she took out her wand muttered a couple of defensive spells. "Have you at least amassed a list of questions?"

It was Ron's turn to roll his eyes, partially at her show of paranoia and partially at her thought process. "Well, for one, we still don't know who has murdered Neville's granddad." Hermione felt a pang from her strictly repressed feelings. "Second, we don't know why the Death Eaters are the way they are now. They're more of a secret society than a killing squad in this decade, and there are no plans to kill in the future. And lastly, there's a time during the day where Tom Riddle completely disappears, and we want to know where he goes."

Hermione's red flags were raised. "How was I not aware of this?" she asked sharply.

Ron put his hands up in defense to her tone. "Because we were just made aware of it. Merlin!"

She raised her eyebrow, urging a slightly frazzled Ron to go on.

"Draco ran into Harry today and told him about the tabs he's been keeping, basically. Enough time has passed for Draco to figure out Riddle's schedule, and he noticed that there's a significant gap of time where he can't be found. On weekdays, it's before dinner, but on weekends, it's usually after his rounds."

Hermione absorbed that information like a sponge. "What do you think he's been doing?"

"Merlin knows. In all likelihood, he's planning the end of the Muggle world," Ron replied with a smirk.

She slapped him on his arm. "Ow!"

"That's not funny! He could very well be planning the end of the Muggle world. Are his followers with him?"

"No. Draco said that all followers were accounted for during those times," he answered, still rubbing his arm.

Hermione was feeling stressed out again. "There's so much to do!"

She stood, her head too busy contemplating how little she had actually done to notice the worried look of her baffled friend.

"Where are you going?"

She sighed. The truth was, her feelings of inadequacy made her want to sulk, and she didn't want anyone to know that she was doing it. So, she went with her usually answer.

"To do some research." She then turned back around, an afterthought hanging from her tongue. "You've grown up," she said with a smile.

"Nope, still the same," Ron replied flippantly, a slight grin on his face.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she turned once again. "I like it," she threw over her shoulder, hoping he heard as she walked away.

….

An hour later, Hermione was still listlessly skimming a row of books. Instead of sulking, she had decided to search for more clues, but now, her mind was berating her for her optimistic aspirations. Hermione had searched the library dozens of times, and each time, she had come up empty handed.

She supposed that she was desperate. Her justification for her unfruitful searching was that she had been too bogged down with homework to truly commit to her mission. But who was she kidding? She had done the updated and advanced versions of all of these lessons in the future, had turned in similar homework assignments, and had memorized all of the formulas, steps, and incantations the first time around. The real reason for her lack of information was her inability to find it.

In a strange way, the Voldemort years had spoiled her. Oh, Hermione was never one to flaunt her advantages, but her mind had always been working during those seven years, and she had (after some sweat and some extensive snooping) always found answers.

Now, in a decade where there weren't really any immediate dangers, she couldn't find anything from any outside sources. It's as if the Time Traveler's screwing with the universe came with more prices than she had anticipated.

Hermione took another step to the right, and was startled to realize that she had come to the end of the row. The fruitlessness of the search was wearing on her. Not just her current search in the library, but her search in general. She knew it was selfish to feel this way. She knew what she had signed up for.

But, for some reason, she couldn't' shake this feeling of inadequacy from her being. Though this primarily came from her own work ethic and her own insecurities, she also knew that it was 20% Tom Riddle. Hermione remembered, at the beginning of term, that she had been determined to crack him.

But now, she was beginning to think that was impossible.

As she prepared to make her way down the row again, a cynical voice interrupted her thoughts.

"What are you doing here?" it demanded.

As per usual, Hermione's spine stiffened and her hand immediately itched for her want. She shook her instincts, though, and turned to face him. "Riddle, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"What are you doing here?" he repeated, his voice more refined this time.

"What do people usually do in libraries?" she retorted, letting some acid drip from her voice. He was unnaturally annoyed at her presence. For Merlin's sake, she hadn't even done anything yet.

"No one is in the library at this time," he stated pointedly.

Hermione didn't understand. "Our situation obviously disproves that."

After clearly showing his annoyance at her presence, Riddle did the oddest thing. He returned to his work and he shifted. Hermione considered herself a bit of a Riddle connoisseur, and if there was one thing he didn't do, it was showing a weakness. He was always so stoic and stern, and this little show of frustration was a complete novelty.

It also accidentally knocked over his schoolbag – a medium-sized, worm, cloth-like bag that had been propped up casually on his leg. And as the bag hit the floor with a decisive _thud!_ Hermione could see everything.

When her mind would look back on this event, she would reflect that she didn't know how he let it slip. All she knew was that his schoolbag was partially open, and the light from the lamp was hitting it just right. There were dozens of books in there! _Dozens!_ Why did he even need all of them? Why was he storing them? Was he keeping them from her?

Something wasn't right.

Livid and without even thinking, Hermione drew her wand and froze Tom. She then slowly walked over to his schoolbag. Before taking a look inside, she imagined that, if Tom had been given a chance to react, he would have murdered her by now.

Taking that though out of her mind, Hermione forced herself into the mindset she used for intelligence gathering. _Search. Find. Take. Search. Find. Take. Search . Find. Take._

There would be terrible repercussions later. But right now, Hermione was so outraged and so frustrated and hopeless that she might as well fully commit to her actions.

Taking extra precautions, she moved Riddle against a bookshelf and cast a more advanced petrifying charm against him. Though she had no trouble with this, she could feel his magic straining against hers. Even as she quickly put his bag on the table, she acknowledged the rarity of feeling a wizard's power against one's own, and she would have to delve into this particular matter later.

Clicking open the brown, extremely worn bag, she gasped at the contents that lay inside. The amount of books he had stored in it were shocking in and of themselves, but the titles of the books was what had her reeling back in fear and fuming with anger all at once.

_Roland Skander's Theories on the Soul_

_Magick and the Soul: A Compilation of Scholarly Articles_

_Black Soul Magick_

_The Soul Misinterpreted: Wizard's Assumptions and Their Mistakes_

As Hermione flipped through the titles, she realized that, all this time, all of her fruitless searching, _he _was behind it. She couldn't be sure whether it was because he needed the books for their essay, whether he knew what she was looking for, or whether he was just being vindictive; but, somehow, he had figured out her game, and he had bested her at it.

Until now.

She remembered that Tom was still pushed against a bookshelf and turned to face him. With a flick of her wand, she unfroze his faced. She noted, with mild humor, that a look of pure anger immediately appeared, yet he said nothing.

Hermione jerkily picked up his bag and brought to him. "What is the meaning of this?"

"What is the meaning of this?" he hissed, inclining his head towards his bag. "What is the meaning of you knowingly assaulting the Head Boy? I'll have your head for this, Granger. Say goodbye to your sterling academic record and your means of employment."

Little did he know that, in this time period, that held little to no importance to her. "Be that as it may, it still doesn't explain why you have all of the books that _you knew _would be useful to me. Even if you choose to damage my academic record, yours is not as perfect as everyone seems to think. Hiding books from your Potions partner? I didn't even think that you could stoop so low."

At that, his jaw started twitching. If she wasn't so used to studying him, she also wouldn't have noticed the fact that his slight, but toned, form was straining against his magical bindings. Hermione knew that he hated not being in control, and she smiled in twisted satisfaction at being the first peer to ever make him feel like this.

"You apparently do think I would stoop so low." Despite the strain on his jaw, his voice came out perfectly normal

He had a point there. "But taking books? For what purpose, Riddle? For not letting me work on the essay?"

For some reason, he seemed to ponder her question before conceding. "Yes. Precisely."

That was a bit too easy, but if he suddenly felt the need to be truthful, she wasn't about to complain.

Instead, she decided that, if he truly didn't want her to do the essay, he would find ways to completely sabotage her every step. Though the Gryffindor in her always had a fighting spirit, she also knew that this fight was worthless. She had more important things to worry about, and she could find another way to contribute.

Nevertheless, Hermione's mind was working on a different strategy. It wouldn't do to simply take the books and run. He would find a way to get them back, and Hermione was in no position to fight for them. She would have to take some of them with his blessing. But how?

She rummaged further through his schoolbag, looking for a very specific book. She didn't know why it seemed pertinent, but if she was going to start negotiating, she supposed that she should start there.

Finding it at the bottom of the bag, she held it up to him. "You should be done with this by now."

_That came out a little bolder than expected._

"I was done with it a long time ago," he replied calmly.

She tried not to smirk. "So, you wouldn't mind if I took it? I was in the middle of reading it before you took away my library privileges," she asked innocently.

His gaze narrowed at her tone. "I do mind."

Hermione scowled openly. Honestly, what was his problem? He was done with the book. She knew it was important to him, but if he was that adamant about keeping it, then it must hold more importance than she originally thought.

"Why do you mind? You're obviously done with it. Why are you keeping this from me?" she asked forcefully, shaking the book for emphasis.

"That's no business of yours," he replied stoically.

His words, flat as they were, jolted her into a realization.

"This book is really important to you," she observed, her words a statement, not a question.

"Obviously."

Hermione supposed that he couldn't lie his way out of that one. "Why?"

"That's no business of yours," he repeated.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. Tom Riddle was showing the most emotion he had ever shown on his face. It sparked her tiny vindictive streak and made her want to egg him on. Later, Draco would most likely chastise her for having no sense of self-preservation. Riddle would strike back, but, in Hermione's mind, that wasn't enough to keep her away.

Backing away slightly, she pulled out the chair closest to Tom and plopped herself down. As she crossed her legs, she licked her finger and daintily started turning the pages of the book. "It is my business," she stated in a sharp manner. "It's my business, because you said that this was only about our project."

"Do not continue looking through my property," he commanded, his look growing positively frigid.

She stopped flipping through the book to look at him defiantly. "Give me a good reason, and I'll stop."

She wanted to high-five herself when she visibly saw his jaw clench.

Hermione felt his magic push against hers again. Without much thinking, she knew that she put Tom Riddle in a terrible position. He had probably never felt this out of control his entire stay at Hogwarts, and she instinctively knew the she was driving him mad.

"You stupid girl," he accused, as he mirrored her defiant expression.

She couldn't help but bristle a bit. He had caught her off guard. "Where did that come from, Riddle?"

"Oh don't act so clueless. You're intelligent, sure. But, what makes you as dumb as the rest of these dimwits in this school is that you refuse to see. You prefer denial above seeing truth."

Hermione thought that his calm tone did not justify his harsh words. She uncrossed her legs and slammed the book close before standing and stiffly walking towards him.

With her wand pointed at him for good measure she asked, "Where the hell is this coming from?"

"Again, with the denial," he drawled, not reacting to her aggressive stance.

"You accuse me of not being a realist, Riddle?" she asked, copying his tone. "You have no idea how much of a realist I am. I honestly have no idea where the hell you are coming from."

"The field," he began. "Who took you back? Did you do some private investigating? Did you figure it out?" He asked his questions in rapid succession, and they hit Hermione like stinging spells.

"I still don't know," she admitted, holding her ground.

"Your friends were the only ones who knew exactly where you were, and they didn't come. No one at school has admitted to it." It was as if he was reciting a grocery list.

Hermione wanted to stomp her feet in frustration. "Your point, Riddle. What is it?"

"I took you back, you dimwitted witch," he declared forcefully. "You think I left, when in reality, I went to grab the heather. I returned and brought you back."

Hermione stepped back, feeling as if she had gotten seriously attacked. "I… I don't…"

"What?" he drawled, letting the tiniest bit of venom seep through his voice. "You don't believe me? You know, I always get the feeling that you've judged me and -."

"I judge _you_?" Hermione interrupted with a cold laugh escaping through her lips. "You, the person who thinks that I am incapable of doing anything without giving me a chance? If we're going to be accusing each other, we might as well be truthful. How I treat you is fair, not judgmental." Inwardly, the brunette tried not to cringe at her lie.

His eyes narrowed, and his voice lowered to a hiss. "I won't go into how un-Gryffindor your statement was. The point is that I brought you back. End of story. And, I think that the reason you're spitting venom at me is because you're being defensive. You know I'm right, Granger. Live up to your own Gryffindor set of beliefs and recognize a deed for what it is."

She couldn't hold back her humorless smile. "Well, your highness, if I stuck to House stereotypes, then I would just assume that you're up to no good." She then sneered something Draco would be proud of. "I will look through this book, Riddle," she promised. "Whether you like it or not."

"People will catch you assaulting me, and they will throw your arse in jail," he threatened.

"That's what nonverbal magic is for," Hermione mumbled, not catching the incredulousness on his features. She then quickly scanned the table of contents and found the page she was looking for. As she turned to page 432, she found it unrecognizable.

"This is an abomination," Hermione whispered. She had never been one for writing in the margins, but he apparently didn't think of books in the same regard. His hand writing was everywhere: in the margins, in between the lines, in all sorts of directions. She looked up at Riddle, and he had grudgingly chosen to stare at a random spot on the bookshelf in front of him.

_Smirking, she started reading his notes._

_More rosewater to lengthen the time limit._

_More bogwart to increase the effects_

_Find a supplement for pigs' feet. _

_Two more pinches of pixie dust._

_The recipe for true happiness._

Hermione paused at the last one. Did he really doubt the effects of the potion that much?

"Yes, I do," he responded. "Though this potion is extremely advanced, it was invented in during the Muggles' Reformation. It's a bit rudimentary."

That didn't satisfy Hermione. "I know you care about this project, Riddle, but I feel as if you care about it too much."

"Going the extra mile is what is needed to achieve excellence," he responded automatically.

Hermione sighed, finally giving into her curiosiousity. "What is this really about?"

"Oh, don't be daft -."

"I'm not being daft. You keep me in the dark more often than not, and I want to know what all of the secrecy is about." She advanced towards him, her newly acquired recklessness letting her nose almost touch his tense form. She looked into his eyes, her voice lowering to a mere whisper. "Now tell me Riddle. What is all of this actually about?"

To her surprise, Hermione heard a soft thud. The next thing she knew, the Head Boy shoved her gently and quickly walked to gather his belongings.

Hermione's shock allowed her to blurt, "What just happened?"

"Should be obvious," he replied brusquely icily. He then turned around and gave her a glare that shook her insides to the core. "I non-verbally freed myself from your magical chains."

Just as speedily as he turned on her, he summoned his wand and magically bound Hermione to the shelf in his place. He then approached her until he had his wand pressed uncomfortably into her throat. His face was so close that Hermione swore she felt their breath intermingle.

His voice lowered to a murmur as the pressure of his wand increased enough to make her involuntarily whimper. "I never attack other students, Granger; but if you ever use magic against me again, you may not like the consequences. I will react next time. Don't forget that."

Though Hermione should have been trembling in her stockings, the Gryffindor in her didn't take kindly to being threatened. Instead of nodding submissively, she returned his glare. "Then stop being so damn arrogant."

Riddle backed let out a cold chuckle. "I'm arrogant? Look at you! Look at what you just did!"

"Just like a Slytherin to forget his own faults," she spat back. "Why the hell are you trying to change this potion, especially after we had started brewing it? Or better yet, why haven't you told me, and why have you practically stolen all of the books in the library pertaining to the subject? Why is this such a big deal for you? Why -?"

"You, of all people, don't need to know my thoughts," he interrupted sharply. "I am the most accomplished student in this school, and though this may be some silly project to you, it means something to me. I am trying to better myself, Granger. I refuse to except the way things are."

Hermione narrowed her eyes to conceal her sudden emotion. His last comment had hit something within her, something she refused to tap into now. "What are you trying to prove?"

"What kind of a question is that?" he hissed.

"Why this obsession with this potion? What are you worrying about?"

Just as quickly as Hermione had asked her questions, Tom Riddle had his school bag on his shoulder and his wand back in his pocket. "You have no right to be so curious. Not a waste like you."

"A waste like me?" Hermione repeated with a bitter smile. "So that's what you think of me. Is that why you refuse to trust me with something as simple as an essay?"

Riddle's smile matched her own. "No, it's because you refuse to look at me and acknowledge me as your savior."

Hermione's mind became mist and her limbs froze in place.

"That's right," he continued, his smile widening as he observed his affect on her. "You refuse to even think about the fact that I'm the one who took you back. I left for not even two minutes to retrieve the heather, came back, and mobilocorpused your arse back to Hogwarts, but your stupid prejudice can't even acknowledge a good deed for what it's worth."

And just like that, Hermione's mind exploded. "My prejudice? Against what? Your personality?"

"No, you dimwit. Your obviously disgusting blood prejudice," he spat.

The Gryffindor fell back as if he had struck her. And, in a purely metaphorical sense, he had. "My blood prejudice?" Hermione had purposefully represented herself as an unknown Muggle Born. She had never described herself as a pureblood.

"That's why you became a Prefect."

"Dippet said that you made me a Prefect."

Riddle didn't reply to that. For the first time, he doggedly stayed on topic. "You are a pureblood. You've purposefully tried to undermine me in everything that we are forced to share in order to prove your superiority. You think I didn't save you from death, because you think that someone that isn't a Pureblood can't possibly be that heroic."

Her anger was heated to the point of combustion. Before she could reply, she was dropped unceremoniously on the floor. Hermione couldn't find it within herself to stand, so she looked up at him, every bit the lioness.

"I don't know how this happened to you. How could someone so brilliant be so utterly wrong?" she asked, looking straight into his eyes.

And with that was left feeling like a failure.

…..

Later that day, 9:03 PM

Hermione had felt so grateful for him earlier. But now, she had half a mind to hex him. "You told everyone that I was a Pureblood? _After I specifically planned to be a Muggleborn!"_

Ron's back was pushed so far against the chair that it was as if he wanted to fall through it in order to escape Hermione's wrath. "It's not what you think."

"It's not," said a familiar cynical voice from behind her.

Hermione put her hands on her hips and tried not to give into the temptation of stomping her foot. "Oh you know about this, too? Merlin, how great it feels to be out of the loop."

Instead of copying Ron's extremely uncomfortable body language, he calmly took a seat and looked properly annoyed at how dramatic she was being. "Before I get started on how much of a complete lunatic you are, I would like to point out that your recent dramatic behavior is completely out of character for you."

In lieu of answering him, Hermione continued glaring at him – partially because she knew he was right.

Draco linked his hands on the table and continued in his mild-mannered voice. "We needed you to be unaware of what we were doing."

Hermione's jaw was clenched so tight, she could feel her teeth giving way to the pressure. "It is already common knowledge that I am Muggleborn. How could you be so stupid?"

"Because you were being targeted," Ron blurted.

"Yeah," Draco agreed. "So, we just told everyone you were obsessed with Muggles, and that's why you try to pass yourself off as one."

Hermione's rage subsided for her incredulousness. "And people believed you?"

"It's Hogwarts, and it's me. And I absolutely adore gossip," Draco drawled in an over-dramatic aristocratic voice. "I'm also really persistent. Honestly, Hermione, it had to be done. You were about to be put on a hit list for the future."

And just like that, all of Hermione's war instincts – instincts she had been trying so desperately to suppress – resurfaced and crashed over her like a tidal wave. "What?" she gasped, as if the air had been knocked out of her.

"You're starting to be viewed as a threat," Draco stated casually, continuing where Ron had left off. "Nothing too serious, mind you; but according to what I have noticed and what red-head has been hearing, we concluded that the dormant Death Eaters want to keep a permanent eye on you."

"It's because your magical talent and your clear dislike for Riddle are visible to the public," Ron said before Hermione could start ranting again. "They are taking note of those that fit your profile. However, since you're an important part of this mission, we couldn't have you being surveyed all of the time."

Hermione's jaw was still tensed. "How is telling everyone that I am a Pureblood going to help the situation? The only thing it did was get me an unwanted Prefects position and a gigantic headache."

"Oh c'mon, Granger," Draco lightly chastised, his features slightly twisted into mock disbelief. "Stop letting your stress get to you. Slytherins are all about Purebloods_. Talented_ Purebloods especially. Just putting that label on you will make them switch gears and have them consider you as a possible ally. Being a Gryffindor doesn't matter at this point in time. They're considering all of their options."

As much as her rage was compelling her to argue, Hermione knew that her situation was irreversible. She relaxed her jaw, and instead, allowed herself to frown. "I don't like you three running operations without me."

"Harry wasn't in on it," Ron objected.

"Regardless," Hermione bulldozed through. "It has brought me into closer proximity with our target." She decided not to tell them about her ordeal the day before. "But I wonder, why hasn't he been trying to butter me up to join his band of killers? He's still the same."

"That's something else we need to talk to you about," Ron said, his voice taking on the tone that he used when something was too serious even for his sense of humor. "He might try to butter you up later on. I'm sure he's trying to find the best method to achieve that now, and I know that you would not fall prey to him that easily, but this is just a warning. Be careful with him now."

Hermione wanted to offer a scathing retort on how the only thing she does is exercise caution with him, but she was once again beaten to the punch.

"We have something else," the Slytherin said as he took a letter out of his pocket. "I had received this letter this morning."

Hermione took it gingerly from his hands. The only person who would possibly send them letters in this decade was….

"Snape?" Hermione breathed in surprise. "He must have found something."

"Maybe," Draco replied. "Just open it."

_Same meeting place. Same time. November 1__st__. The information I am handling is of a delicate and explosive nature._

Hermione's brain registered Snape's script as the form the Order used to relay highly important information to their assets around the country. She looked up from the simple letter and let herself sigh for what seemed like the 100th time that day.

"Let's hope he gives us a breakthrough."

…

**Friday October 30, 5:00 PM**

Hermione didn't know what had brought her to the library again. She was "being targeted" after all. The last thing she should be doing is wandering into enemy territory unaccompanied. And, if she was going to be completely honest, she wasn't on the enemy's turf to wander. She was stalking him.

As much as she had tried to reason with herself that she was only doing what she had been doing for the past three months, this had crossed the line. Usually, she just participated in low-level eye-stalking, but now, she had followed him to the library at a time where she knew he didn't want to be bothered and was watching his every movement through a strategic place behind a bookshelf.

But she was just so curious! And so damn frustrated! Never in her life had she encountered a specimen as complicated as Tom Riddle, but after a long three months, she had chipped a crack into his shell.

She may have even done more than just a little crack.

An idea had occurred to her while she was ruminating about this admittedly every single second of her waking moments. At first it had seem preposterous, but as the idea marinated more in her mind, her logic told her that she needed to disprove herself. She had to prove to her overanalytical brain that this option was most definitely not a possibility.

And then she stalked Tom Riddle to the library. To the exact same place they had their confrontation. Unaccompanied.

As she hid behind one of the Herbology bookshelves and pulled at a small book so that she could use the empty space as a peephole, Hermione knew that she had hit rock bottom. She had charmed herself and stalked Tom Riddle to the library only to watch him and that dark, shiny hair of his pour over the book they had been fighting over for months now.

And then something amazing happened.

Riddle stopped writing for a fraction of a second, ran a frustrated hand through his normally immaculate hair, exhaled sharply, and went back to work.

She knew then.

Hermione didn't know whether it was her overemotional state, her tired brain, or both, but she knew that her unfruitful searching for the meaning behind the first memory was over. There Tom Riddle was, sitting there, scribbling notes furiously into the margins of his Potions book. It all added up. All of her broken thoughts came together. And Hermione, after all of her doubts and her frustration, felt the proud feeling in her chest, welling up inside her, pushing through her esophagus, warming her cheeks and nose, slightly suffocating her until finally the pressure lifted, and she could breathe again.

Discovery.

The fight they had yesterday had made it clear. Tom Riddle, whether he was good or bad at this point in time, was unhappy. Monstrously, enormously, definitively unhappy. She could feel it in her bones as she peeped at him shamelessly through the bookshelf. And suddenly, just as quickly as the feeling of success came, it disappeared. The clouds settled over again, and the world was once again on her shoulders.

Why is he unhappy?

What in his godforsaken life could make him, the most talented wizard in school, the most accomplished boy in the wizarding world, unhappy?

Pushing the books further apart, she stood on her tiptoes, attempting to read what he was writing while simultaneously pondering her questions. It didn't take her long to form possible conclusions, but the conclusions she came to made her wonder is she was half mad. Could it be, even with his soul somewhat gone, that he could still feel? And no, she didn't mean feel as in the watered-down version of the feelings a person with an intact soul would feel. She meant complete, all encompassing feeling. She meant exactly the kind that any normal person would feel.

Was it possible that Tom Riddle hadn't lost as much of his humanity as she thought?

Or, was he unhappy because he couldn't make another Horcrux. Hermione scratched that possibility out completely. He could easily make another Horcrux. He could have made one by now if he himself had killed Neville's grandfather. Hermione knew through research and observation that he hadn't. He was the same at the beginning of the year that he is now. She had trained himself to calculate his coldness, and she wasn't fool enough to believe her feelings were completely accurate, but her intuition – the part of her she trusted least, but had saved her the most – told her that he hadn't changed. And, despite the lack of evidence for her belief, she knew.

There was a third possible option. In her opinion, this one was the least plausible option, but if there was anything she had learned from her time in the 1940s, it's that she can't rule any possibility out.

And, if she were to follow her logic, then she had to consider the chance that Tom Riddle was unhappy with his life.

Hermione reasoned that it wasn't so far out of the realm of possibilities. If he could still feel, then there was no reason why he couldn't feel normal feelings. Sure, to people who didn't know about her situation, Hermione supposed that her question would seem a bit cold. Why wouldn't he be able to feel normal, teenage boy feelings?

In her mind, the answer to her question was fairly simple. She had always assumed that he had lost most of his humanity at this point. Yes, she had allowed that he had retained more than the Time Travelers had previously thought, but she hadn't given him life in her mind. She had thought of him as dead. Lost. Irredeemable.

And maybe, now, he was still lost and irredeemable, but he was most definitely not dead.

Not dead at all.

….

**Sorry for the long wait. I didn't take much time to edit it, so I hope you enjoy. I originally didn't plan on putting that last scene in there, but since I hadn't updated in a while, I decided that I'd give you a little bit extra of an **_**extremely important**_** thought process.**

**Thanks for reading!**


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